THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


LYDDY 


L  YDD  Y 


A   Tale  of   the   Old   South 


By 
EUGENIA  J.  BACON 


MDCCCXCVIII 
CONTINENTAL  PUBLISHING  CO. 

25  PARK  PLACE,  NEW  YORK 


COPYRIGHT,  1898, 
BY  CONTINENTAL  PUBLISHING  CO. 


\  c>5 


DEDICATED  TO  MY  SISTER 
LAURA,  "CHIM" 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.     Sold  at  Auction 13 

£2  II.     Preacher  Frank's  Prayer 25 

UJ 
CO 

^         III.     Eaten  by  a  Bear 41 

cc 

IV.     Daddy  Toby's  Courtship 56 

00 

V.  Machiah  Baptised 64 

^          VI.  A  Gold-Marked  Wedding  Ring      .     .  78 

VII.  Robin  Decides  to  Marry 92 

VIII.  Satan's  Rope  Cut 102 

IX.     A  Spanish  Trading-Port 117 

r> 

X.     Marlborough  and  His  Brute  Friend    .     129 
N: 

••)  XL     Lot  Number  Four 135 

u 

w           XII.     Juno's  Wedding  Festivities    ....     142 

XIII.     How  Can  We  Let  Missy  Die  ?    ...     155 

< 

XIV.    An  Indian  War  Dance 167 

XV.     The  Parson's  Dagger 186 

7 


11  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XVI.     Is  This  Post  Day  ? 205 

XVII.     Lydia's  Ghost  Story 219 

XVIII.  Valentine  Versus  April-Fool ....  232 

XIX.    Sara,  Once  a  Good  Wife 248 

XX.  Lydia  and  Marlborough  Meet    .     .    .  255 

XXI.    A  Marriage  in  Heaven 266 

XXII.  Green  Forest  Sold  at  Auction    .    .    .  272 

XXIII.  News  of  Juno 278 

XXIV.  Mixed  Schools,  Mixed  Marriages   .     .  283 


PREFACE. 

OFFICERS  and  men  that  for  four  years  struggled 
to  tear  down  the  Stars  and  Stripes,  are  to-day 
proudly  planting  Old  Glory  over  a  land  oppressed 
by  cruelty.  In  the  words  of  Commodore  Dewey, 
"  There  is  no  South,  no  North,  but  one  united 
country." 

Old  lines  of  differences  are  for  ever  obliterated. 

Descendants  of  Lee  and  Grant  shouldered  arms, 
and  have  been  standing  side  by  side,  doing 
battle,  at  the  will  of  the  American  Government. 

And  in  this  cause  of  humanity  men  that  were 
once  bound  by  the  yoke  of  servitude  are  taking 
an  active  part. 

Southern  negroes  have  now  enjoyed  the  bless 
ings  of  freedom  for  more  than  thirty  years,  yet 
their  faithfulness  and  devotion  remain  fresh  in  the 
minds  of  former  owners ;  even  as  the  harrowing 
scenes  depicted  by  Mrs.  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe 
continue  to  attract  throngs  of  men,  women,  and 
children  to  theatres  and  halls. 

Those  of  the  race  that  were  born  slaves  will 
soon  have  passed  away,  therefore  I  deem  it  a  fit 

9 


io  Preface. 

time  to  flash  the  sunshine  of  Lydia's  life  before 
the  eyes  of  the  rising  generation ;  so  that  they 
may  realise  that,  in  face  of  the  cruelties  depicted 
in  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  there  were,  on  the  other 
hand,  many  such  characters  as  Lydia,  with  black 
skins  but  pure  souls. 

My  resolution  to  write  Lydia's  history  came 
unexpectedly  to  me  while  visiting  in  Edinburgh, 
Scotland.  One  evening,  at  dinner,  our  party 
were  discussing  national  dishes,  when  my  vis-a 
vis  inquired  of  me  what,  with  us,  corresponded 
to  their  haggis. 

"  Hog  and  hominy,"  I  answered. 

"  Then  you  must  be  a  Southerner !  "  she  ex 
claimed. 

"  Yes,  an  old-fashioned  slave-owner ;  happily 
reconstructed,  however,  so  as  not  only  to  rejoice, 
but  be  harmless." 

My  friend's  little  girl,  sitting  near,  looked  up 
with  a  startled  expression.  Oblivious  to  her 
surroundings,  she  laid  aside  her  knife  and  fork, 
pushed  her  chair  from  the  table,  and  hastened  to 
her  mother's  side.  "  Was  she  really  a  horrid 
slave-owner?"  she  faltered.  Then  her  tears  fell 
freely. 

Only  a  few  days  before,  she  had,  for  the  first 
time,  it  appeared,  witnessed  the  theatrical  repre 
sentation  of  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin." 


Preface.  1 1 

But  the  pathetic  words  of  this  innocent  child 
awakened  me :  she  little  knew  that  the  very  in 
stitution  by  which  my  life  was  once  surrounded, 
had  been  established  first  in  America  by  her  own 
English-speaking  ancestors.  I  determined  there 
and  then  to  write  Lydia's  life  as  I  knew  it. 

So,  dipping  my  pen  into  the  inkstand  of 
Slavery  days,  homely  scenes  of  joy  and  sadness 
are  narrated  as  they  really  happened  in  the  life  of 
one  of  God's  black  angels,  whose  wings  were 
stained  by  sin. 

E.  J,  B. 


LYDDY: 

A  TALE  OF  THE  OLD  SOUTH. 


I. 
Sold  at  Auction. 

"  While  wild  in  wood  the  noble  savage  ran." 

LYDIA'S  grandparents  had    danced   in   their 
primitive  state   on  Africa's    sunny    shore. 
She,  however,  was  born  a  slave,  yet   her 
faith  and  trust  in  God  was  pure  and  abiding,  en 
suring  to  her  the  love  and  devotion  of  all  about 
her. 

In  stature  she  was  of  medium  height,  her  skin 
a  glossy  black,  with  broad  forehead  and  great, 
loving,  tender  eyes.  Unlike  most  negroes,  too, 
her  nose  was  not  very  flat,  nor  her  lips  thick,  and, 
in  laughing,  she  showed  a  double  row  of  faultless 
teeth. 

Her  apparel  was  always  simple, — a  white  apron 
and  a  coloured  turban  being  the  most  conspicuous 


14  Lyddy:  A  Tale  of 

parts  of  it.  In  her  back  hair  was  stuck  a  large 
plain  tortoise-shell  comb — a  gift  from  her  mistress, 
whose  grandmother  had  worn  it  when  such  orna 
ments  were  stuck  high  in  the  coiffure. 

No  Turk  coils  his  soft  white  muslin  more  grace 
fully  than  Lydia  coiled  her  bright  bandanna. 
And  with  the  shell  to  uphold  its  folds,  there  was 
a  certain  individuality  in  its  symmetrical  arrange 
ment.  Other  negroes  might  don  hats  and  furbe 
lows  on  Sunday,  but  Lydia,  No.  Over  a  half- 
worn  dress  of  her  mistress,  she  tied  her  own  spot 
less  tucked  apron,  gave  a  twist  to  her  bandanna, 
— and  she  was  dressed  in  her  best. 

Proud  of  her  position  in  the  nursery,  she  digni 
fied  it  with  rare  good  sense,  and  thus  endeared 
herself  not  only  to  the  children,  but  also  to  all 
our  visitors. 

Lydia  was  born  on  the  estate  of  one  Samuel 
Jameston,  an  Englishman,  living  near  the  village 
of  Riseburg.  Her  father  Belfast  held  the  position 
of  foreman  on  the  place,  and  her  mother  Nancy 
that  of  cook.  And  what  a  cook  ! — sending  to  the 
squire's  table  the  richest  gumbo,  the  lightest  and 
hottest  waffles,  and  the  fluffiest  of  biscuits. 

When  but  a  girl  Lydia's  master  died,  leaving 
an  only  child,  Samuel,  already  motherless,  in 
possession  of  Fairfield.  And  so,  in  time,  the  old 
homestead,  with  its  massive  English  sideboard 


The  Old  South.  15 

supplied  with  the  choicest  of  wines  and  finest  of 
cigars,  became,  with  the  young  master  at  the  head, 
a  rendezvous  for  fast  young  men,  fond  of  hunting 
and  driving.  The  metaphorical  latch-string  hung 
outside  the  door,  as  it  ever  hangs  in  many  South 
ern  houses,  and  invited  friends  to  enter.  But 
nights  of  revelry  for  the  men  were  followed  by 
mornings  that  were  trying  to  the  heart  of  old 
Nancy. 

"  If  Mars  Sam  don't  git  him  a  wife  what  will 
keep  him  sober,  Nancy  must  quit  de  kitchin  !  " 
she  often  cried  in  bitterness. 

One  person  alone  on  the  plantation  had  any 
power  over  Samuel  when  he  was  not  himself ; 
and  that  was  old  Chloe,  who  had  nursed  him  from 
infancy.  With  her  black  face  wreathed  in  smiles, 
— notwithstanding  the  tears  of  distress  welling 
up  at  the  sight  of "  her  boy's"  red  eyes, — she  often 
soothed  him  as  none  other  dared  to  do.  One 
morning,  quite  accidentally,  Nancy  detected 
Chloe's  occult  power,  when  she  heard  her  outside 
the  library  door,  praying : 

"  O  blessed  Lord  !  I  is  done  all  I  kin  fer  Mars 
Sam  ;  certain  an'  sure  de  big  Devil  is  laid  hold  o' 
my  boy.  O  Master,  you  what  'buked  de  storm 
a  ragin'  on  de  sea,  come  down  wid  dy  mighty 
power  an'  say,  'Git  behin'  me,  Satin.'  Sure,  my 
w'ite  chile  will  'spect  de,  O  Lord.  At  chu'ch 


1 6  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

Mars  C.  C.  tells  us  if  we  prays  an'  believes,  dat 
de  Lord  will  answer.  He  will,  only  we  must 
wait,  'umble-like.  Oh,  God!  ole  Chloe  is  a- 
waitin' ! " 

Nancy's  cares  increased  :  her  husband  sickened, 
and  died.  Then  a  less  experienced  man  was  made 
foreman  at  Fairfield. 

After  this  the  crops  in  a  measure  failed,  debts 
were  increased,  until,  at  last,  it  became  necessary 
for  the  young  master  to  sell  his  negroes,  one  after 
another. 

Lydia  accordingly  was  advertised  to  be 
"  knocked  down  "  to  the  highest  bidder,  at  Rise- 
/  burg,  January  20,  1830.  Her  mother — determined 
to  seek  for  her  a  good  master — came  and  implored 
my  father — living  at  a  small  place  called  Navarre 
— to  buy  her. 

"  Massa,  she's  as  likely  a  gal  as  you  kin  find, 
an'  will  make  a  smart  housemaid  fer  de  young 
lady  folks  says  you's  goin'  ter  bring  ter  Navarre." 

Riseburg,  it  may  be  added,  was  the  county- 
seat,  and  boasted  of  a  court-house,  two  stores,  one 
tavern,  and  a  half-dozen  residences. 

At  the  stores  negroes  exchanged  eggs  and 
chickens — not  always  their  own,  alas  ! — for  sugar, 
calico,  and  tobacco. 

A  dilapidated  stage-coach,  which  ran  between 
Savernake  and  Darius,  stopped  at  the  tavern. 


The  Old  South.  17 

Here  passengers  refreshed  themselves  on  "  hog 
and  hominy,"  accompanied,  whenever  wanted, 
with  sweet  yams  and  corn-bread. 

Moreover,  on  certain  days  in  the  year,  a  shrewd 
business  man,  with  a  twang  in  his  voice  not 
Southern,  mounted  a  block  or  a  live-oak  stump  in 
front  of  the  court-house,  and,  in  auction  style, 
"  knocked  down"  to  the  highest  bidder  negro  after 
negro. 

In  this  wise  Lydia  fell  to  my  father ;  and,  after 
a  touching  farewell  with  her  mother,  she  was 
driven  away,  seated  beside  the  coachman  Marl- 
borough. 

Before  parting,  however,  Nancy  gave  her  good 
advice,  and  likewise  overwhelmed  Lydia's  new 
owner  with  thanks  : 

"  De  Lord  bless  you,  massa,  an'  help  my  gal  ter 
sarve  you  well,  so  you  won't  neber  be  sorry  of 
your  barg'in." 

Not  long  after,  Lydia  waited  at  the  front  steps 
for  her  master's  bride,  whom  she  conducted  to  her 
chamber.  Before  adjusting  her  mistress's  slip 
pers,  she  kissed  the  tiny  feet  in  token  of  wel 
come,  and  said,  "  We  is  all  on  usgoin'  ter  love  you 
lots,  missy."  A  dainty  hand  patted  her  gay  ban 
danna  in  appreciation  of  love  so  fervently  shown  ; 
for,  in  slavery  days  no  stiffness  existed  between 
mistress  and  maid. 

2 


i8  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

Nancy  frequently  spent  Sundays  at  Navarre, 
and  when  her  son  Belfast  was  sold,  he  joined  his 
sister,  to  the  delight  of  their  mother,  who  was 
bravely  doing  her  duty,  separated  as  she  was  from 
her  only  children. 

"  It's  not  fer  long  dat  I  must  work  'lone,"  she 
groaned,  "  caise  dey'll  soon  lay  me  'side  de  ole 
man,  an'  from  my  grave  a  song  '11  rise,  caise  we 
two  chilluns  is  in  de  hands  of  a  Godfearin'  good 
master." 

Her  prophecy — at  least  as  to  her  daughter's 
ability — proved  correct.  For,  when  the  position 
of  nurse  was  to  be  filled,  Lydia  was  given  charge 
of  the  child. 

Navarre  was  sold  eventually,  and  a  large  and 
beautiful  estate,  comprising  three  thousand  acres, 
known  as  Green  Forest,  was  purchased.  Its 
homestead,  or  dwelling,  was  of  little  importance ; 
but  its  rambling  old  roofs  and  overhanging  ledges 
were  embowered  in  a  forest  of  eternal  green.  In 
February  the  yellow  jessamine,  trailing  from  tree 
to  tree,  gave  the  grove  a  wealth  of  golden  beauty, 
and  in  spring  the  magnolia,  king  of  flowers, 
scented  the  air  with  its  large  bowl-like  blossoms. 
Interspersing  these,  festoons  of  long  grey  moss 
floated  in  the  summer  breeze,  or  whirled  in  win 
ter's  wild  blasts  from  live-oak,  pine,  and  olive 
trees. 


The  Old  South.  19 

To  describe  the  singular  effect  produced  by  this 
curious  growth  of  the  Far  South,  is  impossible. 
Swaying  from  innumerable  tree-limbs,  its  smoky 
colour  and  its  spectral  shapes  impart  a  gloom 
even  in  the  midst  of  spring's  gayest  tints,  or  mid 
summer's  blaze  of  full-blown  flowers.  Were  it 
possible,  indeed,  to  exterminate  this  growth, 
which  is  not  a  parasite,  the  human  race  could  not 
exist  in  the  miasmatic  air  that  gives  it  nourish 
ment. 

The  house  at  Green  Forest  needing  to  be  en 
larged  and  renovated,  a  mason  was  given  the 
contract.  A  skilled  workman  from  Savernake,  he 
was  also  a  free  negro ;  and  so  he  inspired  the 
plantation  people  with  due  respect.  For,  at  that 
period,  few  men  with  coloured  skins  were  their 
own  masters. 

It  was  not  long,  however,  before  Marlborough, 
the  coachman,  manifested  an  intense  dislike  for 
the  newcomer. 

"  I's  what  folks  calls  a  slave,  but  I  wouldn't 
change  place  wid  dat  copper-coloured  fellow.  He's 
his  own  boss,  but  from  sun  up  ter  sun  up  he  must 
work  ter  earn  his  hog  an'  hom'ny. 

"  Massa's  folks  sits  outside  deir  cabin,  pickin' 
de  banjo,  de  sun  high  ober  head :  Caise  why  ?  dey 
has  finished  deir  day's  task.  As  fer  horses,  show 
me  a  man  what  reins  a  finer  pair  in  Siberty 


20  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

county  dan  Bolivar  an'  Bonepart,  an'  in  no  car 
riage  sets  a  liklier  nurse  dan  we  Lyddy.  Any 
coachman  would  be  proud  ter  drive  her  round." 

But  in  spite  of  these  self-gratulations  and  this 
show  of  contentment,  a  suspicion  was  rankling  in 
his  mind  that  the  free  negro  might  some  day  come 
between  him  and  the  woman  he  loved.  In  fact, 
he  had  already  noted  signs  that  indicated  that  the 
tender  eyes  of  the  nurse  had  captivated  the  heart 
of  the  mason. 

He  longed  to  know  how  matters  were  progress 
ing  ;  so  he  secreted  himself  behind  a  low-limbed 
myrtle  bush  near  where  Lydia  usually  sat  when 
"  her  babies  "  were  snugly  tucked  away  in  bed. 
Yes,  there  they  were  now  ! — he  heard  Marmaduke 
pleading: 

"  My  lady,  I  loves  you  wid  all  my  heart.  Say 
you'll  be  mine,  an'  I'll  pay  down  gold  an'  silver 
fer  you,  an'  present  you  wid  your  own  self. 
You'll  be  a  free  lady  then,  wearin'  fine  silk  frocks 
an'  a  hat  wid  long  plumes  like  de  w'ite  folks. 
Jes  be  mine  an'  I'll  give  you  a  gal  ter  wait  on  you. 
I  knows  well  dat  coachman  is  in  love  wid  you,  but 
he's  got  nothin'  ter  offer  you  ;  he's  a  slave  tied  ter 
his  master's  whippin'  post.  I'm  a  free  man  !  " 

"  Massa  sets  a  pow'ful  stoh  by  we  coachman  ; 
he  ain't  tied  ter  no  post.  We's  growed  up  ter- 
gether  ;  so  I  knows." 


The  Old  South.  21 

A  shout  of  delight  was  but  scarcely  suppressed 
from  behind  the  myrtle  bush. 

"  But,  my  lady,  wouldn't  you  like  ter  be  mistress 
of  your  own  house  ?  If  you'll  be  mine,  I'll  buy 
you  a  home  soon  as  I  gits  paid  fer  de  work  here. 
I  knows  what  it  is  ter  be  a  slave.  When  my 
master,  who  was  also  my  father,  died,  he  left  me 
free.  T'ank  God,  my  han's  is  got  no  chains  on 
dem  now.  I  does  as  I  please." 

"  But  you  must  work  fer  your  victuals  an' 
clothes!  So  Bro'  Molbro  was  sayin'  in  de 
kitchin." 

"  He's  a  fool,  dat  man.  Don't  you  listen 
ter  his  talk.  I'm  my  own  boss  an'  does  jes 
as  I  likes.  You  be  mine,  an'  you  kin  do  de 
same." 

Marlborough's  heart  thumped  as  if  made  of 
lead.  The  realisation  of  his  inability  to  compete 
with  one  able  to  buy  his  own  wife,  giving  her, 
too,  a  house  and  housemaid,  completely  over 
whelmed  him.  Hitherto,  the  wish  for  heaps  of 
gold  had  never  marred  his  happy  life ;  but  now, 
— how  could  he  earn  enough  to  overbid  his  hated 
rival  was  his  dominant  thought.  Convinced, 
finally,  that  his  only  chance  lay  in  persuading  his 
master  not  to  sell  the  nurse,  and  also  to  dismiss 
the  mason,  getting  some  one  else  to  complete 
the  work,  he  determined,  if  these  failed,  to  way- 


22  Lyddy:  A  Tale  of 

lay  Marmaduke  and  batter  his  yellow  face  into 
jelly.  Lydia  then  wouldn't  care  to  marry  him. 

With  a  woman's  discerning  eye,  the  mistress 
divined  that  there  was  trouble  existing,  and  that 
the  wedding-feast  she  had  hoped  to  order  for 
two  of  her  house-servants  would  not  be  for  the 
coming  Christmas. 

My  father  promised  Marlborough  not  to  part 
with  the  nurse ;  but  he  could  not  annul  the  con- 
tract  with  Marmaduke,  except  for  incapacity. 
Marmaduke,  however,  as  has  been  said,  was  a 
skilled  workman. 

"  Oh,  massa  !  I  never  gits  a  word  wid  we 
nurse  dese  days.  If  I  does  ketch  up  wid  her, 
she  talks  'bout  elegant  gentlemens  what  does  as 
dey  please.  Massa,  can't  you  hire  Mr.  Jackson 
ter  finish  de  work  ?  " 

He  was  told  No  ! 

But  his  longed-for  chance  to  speak  to  Lydia 
soon  came.  He  had  been  sent  to  the  grove  to 
summon  the  nurse  home.  There  he  found  her 
seated  on  a  log,  her  white  children  gathering  wild 
violets.  Forgetting  his  mission,  he  gave  vent  to 
his  feelings. 

"  Lyddy,  dey  is  no  time  fer  coteship,  you 
knows  you  is  de  idol  of  my  life ;  you  knows  I'd 
die  fer  you.  But,  Lyddy,  I  has  no  money  ter 
buy  you  ;  I  has  no  house  but  what  massa'll  build  ; 


The  Old  South.  23 

I  can't  give  you  a  gal  ter  wait  on  you,  but,  my 
love,  I'll  wait  on  you  myse'f  ;  I'll  be  ter  you  all 
dat  any  black  man  kin  be  ter  a  lady.  Tell  me, 
Lyddy,  tell  me,  is  you  goin'  ter  marry  dat  hateful 
vagabon'  of  a  yaller  niggar  ?  " 

Lydia,  startled  and  stunned  to  find  he  had 
gained  information  of  her  private  affairs,  merely 
tossed  her  head  and  said :  "  Bro'  Molbro,  is  you 
lef  your  work'  jes  ter  come  here  ter  tarrify  me  ? 
What  concern  is  it  o'  yourn'  if  I  do  choose  ter  be 
de  mason's  wife?  You  go  an'  tend  ter  your  own 
business." 

"  Lyddy,"  he  said,  "  Wen  I  shets  my  eyes  at 
night,  dat  great  merlatter  man  stands  over  me 
bellowin'  '  Hands  off  !  '  I  ain't  fer  makin'  a 
racket  on  Green  Forest,  but  some  night  I's  goin' 
ter  hit  dat  fellow  plumb  ter  kingdom  come." 

As  if  the  deed  were  already  done,  Lydia  burst 
into  tears.  "  Will  you  be  a  murderer,  like  Cain  ! — 
Oh!  Oh!" 

Her  white  children  gathered  at  her  side  and 
covered  her  with  caresses.  "  Mommer,  don't 
cry  ;  who  has  hurt  you  ?  " 

Marlborough  one  day  confided  his  troubles  to 
his  master.  Consequently,  a  letter  was  written 
to  Savernake,  making  inquiries  as  to  Marma- 
duke's  marital  relation, — suspicion,  in  fact,  having 
whispered  that  he  was  already  married.  Letters 


24  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

at  that  date  were  carried  on  horseback,  the  post 
age  costing  twenty-five  cents. 

An  answer  came,  in  due  time.  The  mason  was 
a  married  man,  with  three  children,  his  home  on 
the  outskirts  of  Savernake. 

This  news  brought  joy  to  the  coachman,  and  his 
face  beamed  with  delight.  Now  it  would  be  plain 
sailing, — his  pathway  clear.  For  no  man,  even 
"  a  free  niggar,"  could  marry  two  wives. 

The  songs  in  the  nursery,  once  gay  and  bright, 
changed  into  funereal  dirges,  while  the  negroes 
at  the  quarters,  lustily  abused  "  de  no  'count 
free  niggar  who  had  fooled  de  whole  plantation, 
specially  de  likliest  'oman  of  de  crowd." 

Marmaduke,  now  in  disrepute,  hired  an  assist 
ant,  finished  his  work,  and  returned  to  Savernake, 
caring  nothing  about  the  misery  he  left  behind. 


The  Old  South.  25 


II. 

Preacher  Frank's  Prayer. 

"  In  the  mud  and  scum  of  things 
Something  always,  always  sings." 

YEAR  by  year  Green  Forest  was  enlarged 
and  beautified,  its  many  buildings  so  ar 
ranged  as  to  give  the  plantation  the 
appearance  of  a  village. 

A  wide  avenue  opened  from  the  Savernake  and 
Darius  turnpike.  Large  overhanging  trees  en 
twined  on  either  side,  their  limbs  forming  an  arch 
festooned  with  grey  moss,  rays  of  sunlight  here 
and  there  darting  through  to  the  sandy  way. 
One  could  get  merely  a  glimpse  of  the  Colonial 
homestead,  with  its  cream-coloured  Corinthian 
columns. 

At  right  angles  with  the  avenue,  a  street  led 
to  the  Sandyrun  Road.  Its  length  was  dotted 
with  buildings,  and  row  after  row  of  negro  houses, 
a  small  enclosure  in  the  rear  of  each  for  a  vege 
table-garden.  The  cabins  were  not  made  of  logs, 
but  of  deal,  with  brick  chimneys. 


26  Lyddy :  A  Tale  of 

Midway  of  this  street  was  a  circular  enclosure, 
its  lattice-paling  hidden  by  a  wealth  of  Cherokee 
roses,  their  glossy  green  leaves  and  creamy  flowers 
glistening  in  the  noonday  rays.  And  here  hung 
an  up-swinging  pole,  with  its  moss-covered  bucket. 
Little  moss,  however,  collected,  so  constantly 
was  the  bucket  on  the  dip,  its  sparkling  contents 
quenching  the  thirst  of  hundreds  in  the  quarters. 

A  few  yards  to  the  left  glistened  a  small  duck 
pond, — the  rendezvous  for  geese  and  ducklings. 
Splashing  and  cackling  in  delight,  they  were  sur 
rounded  often  by  troops  of  black  piccaninnies, 
squeezing  soft  mud  between  their  toes. 

Surmounted  by  a  crowing  cock,  symbolic  of 
poor  Peter's  treachery,  stood  a  church  with  a 
pointed  tower  ;  in  the  rear  a  grave-yard  hedged 
round  with  young  cedar  trees. 

Nothing  in  modern  machinery  could  be  more 
wonderful  and  impressive  to  us  than  was  our  cot 
ton-gin.  The  building  simulated  a  summer-hotel, 
with  a  wide  uncovered  piazza,  for  drying  raw- 
cotton — the  principal  staple  of  the  place.  Day 
after  day  Uncle  Toby  sat  in  front  of  a  keyboard 
with  sharp  savage-looking  teeth,  running  hands- 
ful  of  cotton  to  and  fro,  from  base  to  treble.  But 
no  musical  sound  came,  save  the  rattling  of  jet- 
black  seeds  into  a  hamper  below  as  the  liberated 
fleece,  like  flakes  of  snow,  whirled  into  a  window- 


The  Old  South.  27 

less  room.  This  we  longed  to  enter,  but  our 
foreman,  Scipio,  never  allowed  us  within  five  feet 
of  the  threshold. 

"  Is  you  chilluns  a-wantin'  ter  be  suffocated? 
Sure's  you  puts  your  nose  inside  dat  dooe,  you 
is  done  fer,  jes  as  good  as  if  you  is  buried  six 
foot  underground." 

We  were  sure  a  few  moments  in  that  fairy 
chamber  could  do  no  harm.  But  the  foreman 
was  wise.  From  openings  in  the  gin-house  floor 
long  bags  were  suspended.  Down  into  these, 
negro  men,  with  heavy  pestles,  compressed  five 
hundred  pounds  of  cotton.  Modern  invention — 
the  great  compress — does  this  work  in  a  few 
minutes. 

Near  the  sea,  on  our  rich  bottom  lands,  the 
cotton  plant  attained  a  growth  of  fully  six  feet, 
its  branches  covered  with  pale  yellow  blooms 
with  purple  centres.  These  crinkle  into  an  elon 
gated  pod,  resembling  a  hickory-nut  ;  and  when 
brown  and  dry  pop  into  four  quarters,  from 
which  a  wealth  of  fleece  quivers  in  the  slightest 
breath  of  air.  On  clear  autumnal  days,  the  tall 
sepia-coloured  stalks  appeared  dry  and  lifeless  ; 
yet,  day  after  day,  soft  snow-white  tufts  hung 
from  myriad  branches,  thus  outlining  a  picture 
long  to  be  remembered. 

Near  the  pond,  grouped    picturesquely,    were 


28  Lyddy:  A  Tale  of 

other  buildings:  the  saw-mill,  with  its  piles  of 
logs  seasoning  in  the  sun  ;  and  a  circular  wheel, 
where  three  horses  tread,  advancing  not  an  inch. 

A  ride  on  this  revolving  circle  was  our  delight. 
And  Daddy  Joe  had  frequently  to  rescue  us 
from  perilous  positions. 

After  a  Jewish  synagogue  the  blacksmith  shop 
was  designed  ;  and  opposite  to  it  was  an  imposing 
structure,  replete  with  rice  threshers,  circular 
saws,  and  turning-lathes.  Home-grown  maple 
or  oak  was  fashioned  there  into  furniture  ;  for, 
negroes  that  married  on  the  place  were  "set  up" 
in  housekeeping. 

Against  the  chimney  corner  of  his  cabin  young 
Bill  often  leaned  his  bench,  tingling  a  besmeared 
banjo.  Sweltering  over  an  open  fire,  Dinah,  his 
bride,  fried  slices  of  bacon,  while  the  corn  loaf 
browned  in  a  ring-top  oven. 

"  De  pone  am*  done.  Come,  Bill,  les'  eat  sup 
per." 

From  tin  plates  they  ate  their  rations ;  serving 
them  out,  too,  in  no  meagre  quantity. 

Dancing  in  the  brick-yard  always  followed  the 
lighting  of  kilns.  Lydia  took  "  her  children  "  as 
lookers  on ;  she  herself  dared  not  hook  arms  in 
the  giddy  whirl ;  Parson  C.  C.  was  far  too  strict 
to  countenance  such  frivolity  in  his  church  mem 
bers. 


The  Old  South.  29 

Christmas  festivities  held  a  prominent  place  in 
the  minds  of  both  workers  and  children.  Before 
the  Pleiades  faded  into  the  light  of  morning,  we 
were  astir,  eager  to  say  first  "  Merry  Christ 
mas  !  " 

"  Now  deir  is  dat  blessed  chile  done  kotch  me ! 
Here,  honey,  is  a  fresh  aigg  jes  dropped  yister- 
day." 

We  disbursed  our  debts  from  a  hamper  of 
cakes. 

A  bell  summoning  us  to  breakfast,  stalwart 
negro  men  would  perch  us  upon  their  shoulders, 
— our  arms  clasped  about  their  woolly  heads. 
So  they  trotted  home,  at  a  pace  dangerous  to 
life  and  limb.  An  army  of  little  blacks  in  our 
rear  whooped  and  screamed  with  delight.  Many 
of  them,  in  fact,  in  hot  haste  to  join  the  fun,  for 
got  to  complete  their  morning  toilet,  appearing 
without  certain  essential  garments. 

No  queen  ever  enjoyed  a  triumphal  procession, 
with  its  pomp  and  show,  more  than  we  did  our 
home-going  on  Christmas  morning.  Our  doll 
tables  were  for  a  time  replete  with  eggs, — boiled, 
fried,  whisked,  or  scrambled,  with  nuts  for  des 
sert. 

Southern  children  lived  among  such  environ 
ments,  petted  and  spoiled  by  faithful  slaves. 

In  front  of  the  church,  on  Christmas  evening 


30  Lyddy:  A  Tale  of 

bright  bonfires  burned,  illuminating  a  table  bur 
dened  with  barbecued  meats,  potatoes,  bread,  and 
cakes  for  the  plantation  feast.  Negro  women 
wore  their  gorgeous  head-turbans  and  gayest 
dresses,  furbelowed  and  flounced  to  the  waist 
line,  while  the  men  donned  their  whitest  shirt- 
fronts  and  brightest  neckties. 

Upon  the  arrival  of  the  white  family,  the  signal 
to  begin  was  given.  Scipio,  the  master  of  cere 
monies,  usually  asked  his  master  for  a  blessing. 

Daddy  Frank  lifted  both  hands  reverentially, 
after  my  father's  voice  ceased  :  "  De  Lord  help  we 
niggars  ter  be  true  an*  faithful  ter  we  w'ite  folks 
what  has  spread  dis  here  bounty  fer  we  spacious 
'joyment." 

The  foreman  then  added,  with  commanding 
tones,  "  Hunno  people,  stand  at  a  'spectful  distance 
till  de  w'ite  folks  is  sarved,  den  you  may  set  to 
but  be  sure  you  eats  dis  luscious  meal  in  a  decent 
an'  proper  manner." 

Dancing  followed  the  refreshments,  interspersed 
with  the  cutting  of  an  imaginary  "  pigeon's  wing." 
This,  as  may  well  be  inferred,  requires  an  agile 
body. 

The  noise  and  frolicking  that  followed  were  not 
produced  by  stimulants  ;  it  was  but  the  unchecked 
outburst  of  happy  hearts.  Though  the  negroes 
possessed  no  money,  they,  in  reality,  had  an  un- 


The  Old  South.  31 

failing  savings  bank  to  draw  upon  whenever  ill- 
health  or  old  age  overtook  them  ;  in  short,  they 
felt  that  they  had  a  right  to  care  and  protection, 
and  so  holiday  amusements  served  as  cords  to 
bind  even  tighter  the  owned  and  the  owner. 

Merry-making  was  not  confined  to  the  quarters 
alone,  for  the  homestead  itself  was  rarely  ever 
free  of  guests.  This,  of  course,  entailed  extra 
domestic  work,  yet  the  servants  gloried  in  a  house 
full  of  people. 

Even  now,  as  many  gentlemen  know,  negro 
men,  are  experts  in  clothes-brushing.  It  would 
also  be  difficult  to  find  a  better  maid  than  a  negro 
girl  accustomed  to  attend  on  her  mistress. 
So,  when  it  became  necessary  to  dismiss  Lydia 
from  the  nursery,  mother's  cares  were  greatly 
increased,  and  Phcebe,  who  succeeded  her,  had 
a  hard  time  : 

"  Go  'way !  you  sha'n't  dress  us ;  we  want 
mommer  to  button  our  clothes.  Leave  go  our 
curls,  you're  a  horrid  black  niggar,  we  want  mom 
mer  with  her  red  bandanna  and  white  apron. 
Why  don't  mommer  come  in  the  mornings  ;  why 
has  she  left  us  to  rake  up  old  leaves  ? "  This 
fighting  and  howling  went  on  in  the  nursery  until 
it  almost  distracted  our  mother. 

Letha  said  one  morning,  "  Phcebe,  you  sha'n't 
talk  about  mommer,  she's  not  bad,  she  is  the  best 


32  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

mommer  in  the  world.  Her  skin  is  black,  but 
God  can  make  it  white  as  snow.  Some  day  she'll 
be  a  pure  white  angel  and  we'll  walk  with  her  in 
Paradise,  she  told  us  so  herself  before  she  left." 

And  though  Lydia  had  been  overwhelmingly 
humbled,  our  first  thought  in  the  morning 
was  always  to  run  in  the  direction  of  the 
"trash  gang," — as  the  convalescent  workers  were 
termed. 

Lydia,  at  sight  of  her  "  w'ite  chilluns,"  dashed 
her  rake  to  the  ground  and  clasped  one  after  an 
other  to  her  bosom,  covering  their  chubby  hands 
with  kisses. 

"  Do,  chilluns,  beg  missus  ter  let  me  come 
home  !  I  wish  I  was  daid  ;  how  can  I  lib  away 
from  my  pets  ?  Is  I  neber  goin'  ter  be  forgiven  ?  " 

Her  hot  tears  were  quickly  brushed  away  by 
baby  fingers. 

She  was  not  the  only  one  on  the  plantation 
that  was  utterly  miserable.  Marlborough  was 
simply  desperate.  Not  because  he  was  a  slave  ; 
not  because  his  pockets  were  empty  of  gold  and 
silver.  It  was  because  there  seemed  no  prospect 
of  his  marrying  the  woman  he  loved.  Indeed,  if 
she  but  caught  sight  of  him  she  either  hastened 
away  or  hid  her  face.  Gossip  accordingly  grew 
rife  among  the  field-hands,  many  assuring  Marl- 
borough  that  he  wasted  his  life  waiting  for  a  smile 


The  Old  South.  33 

from  a  woman  that  vowed  she  had  no  confidence 
in  any  man,  and  wouldn't  marry  the  best  unless  he 
could  give  her  a  house  and  housemaid,  with  pur 
chase  papers  in  her  own  name,  making  her  thus  a 
free  woman. 

With  no  opportunity  to  ask  her  if  it  be  true, 
the  last  vestige  of  hope  was  crushed,  and,man-like, 
Marlborough  sought  to  comfort  himself  in  the 
company  of  another  woman.  His  amatory  atten 
tion  was  given  to  a  field-worker  younger  than 
Lydia,  who  lived  on  Mr.  Joe  Lament's  plantation, 
— three  miles  distant.  Their  courtship  was  brief  ; 
scarcely  three  weeks. 

He  gave  Flora,  the  night  he  married  her,  a  plain 
gold  ring  with  marks  inside, — unintelligible  to  her 
untutored  mind. 

A  ginger-coloured  baby  arrived  in  course  of  time 
in  Lydia's  cabin.  And  when  we  were  permitted 
to  visit  them,  she  again  and  again  entreated  to 
be  taken  back.  "  Beg  missus  ter  forgive  me,  an' 
let  me  come  home." 

Early  in  summer,  wearing  a  spotless  apron 
and  crimson  head  handkerchief,  she  resumed  her 
former  position,  greeted  with  a  clapping  of  tiny 
white  hands  and  screams  of  joy. 

In  a  year's  time  she  gave  the  lie  to  gossip,  and 
was  married  at  Pleasant  Grove  church  by  Dr.  C. 
C.  to  James,  servant  of  Colonel  Cummings. 
3 


34  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

James  gathered  oysters  and  fish  for  his  master; 
and  he  kept  "  us  "  well  supplied  with  lovely  sea- 
shells  ;  our  toys,  in  fact,  were  the  handiwork  of 
different  coloured  men  on  the  estate. 

Lydia's  hands  and  life  were  full,  caring  for  a 
number  of  children,  who  embraced  every  oppor 
tunity  to  mount  bareback  horses,  climb  trees, 
get  over  "  stake  and  rider  fences,"  acting,  in  fact, 
like  lambs  in  pasture — never  still  a  minute.  In 
our  pranks  the  negro  workers  helped  us,  incurring 
censure  rather  than  report  our  misdeeds.  I  re 
call  one  dreadful  experience: 

Beside  the  saw-mill  stood  long  box-like  struc 
tures,  designed  to  flood  or  keep  dry  rice-fields 
Sawney  had  started  with  four  easy-going  oxen, 
carrying  one  box  suspended  between  lumber 
wheels.  Letha,  always  my  leader,  suggested  the 
fun  of  exploring  the  other. 

"You  go  in  yonder  end!"  said  she,  "we  will 
cross  in  the  centre."  We  did  not  think  of  dimen 
sions. 

As  an  infant  endeavours  to  get  at  its  play 
things  scattered  on  the  nursery  floor,  so  we  essayed 
to  go  through  the  rice-field  trunk.  Our  creep 
ing  for  a  time  was  seemingly  unimpeded,  then 
nails  protruded,  rending  pinafores,  dresses,  pant 
alets  and  stockings,  not  to  mention  delicate  skin. 

We  both,  in  short,  possessed  a  goodly  store  of 


The  Old  South.  35 

perseverance — for  wrong-doing  ;  on  the  principle, 
probably,  that  stolen  fruits  are  sweet. 

We  eventually  reached  the  centre  of  that  low, 
narrow  thirty-foot  box;  but  to  pass  each  other 
was  quite  another  feat. 

If  a  cat's  head  goes  through  an  opening,  the 
body  easily  slips  in.  We  two  might  have  kissed, 
but  there  we  stuck,  nails  above,  nails  below,  splin 
ters  on  every  side  pinning  us  fast  in  our  perilous 
position.  Our  tears  intensified  the  darkness. 

"  Ding-dong,  ding-dong,"  sounded  the  dinner- 
bell,  stimulating  our  healthy  appetites. 

Lydia  called,  "  Letha,  Dodo,  way  is  you  ?  De 
dinner  bell  is  gone.  Come  quick,  aunt  Affie  is 
got  a  big  sweet  pudden  fer  you  !  " 

Leading  his  horses  to  the  pond  to  drink,  Marl- 
borough  stopped  for  a  tete-a-tete  with  Lydia. 

"  Bro'  Molbro,  is  you  seen  my  chilluns,,  dat 
only  a  minute  ago  was  makin'  a  block-house? 
Here  is  deir  bonnets,  but  where's  dem  two  tom 
boys?  " 

Though  now  a  married  man,  Marlborough's 
heart  still  burned  with  the  old  love  ;  so,  wishing 
her  to  tarry,  he  replied,  "  The  children  will  come 
soon." 

"  No  ;  I  hears  dem  cryin' ;  Dey  must  be  up 
some  tree." 

He  tied  his  horses  to  a  branch,  and  together 


36  Lyddy:  A  Tale  of 

they  examined  low-limbed  trees,  where,  before,  we 
had  been  found  pinioned  to  thorns,  our  aprons  in 
shreds. 

The  thud  of  horses'  hoofs  jarred  us  and  we  heard 
our  nurse's  voice  still  calling. 

"  Mommer,"  we  screamed,  "  here  we  are  !  Take 
us  out,  we  can't  move  an  inch." 

"  Honey,  way  is  you  ?  De  pudden  is  gittin'  cole. 
Law,  bless  my  soul,  Bro'  Molbro,  if  here  ain't  my 
two  chilluns  in  de  rice-field  trunk." 

Marlborough  grasped  the  situation,  and,  with 
deafening  blows  of  an  axe,  liberated  us.  He 
then  gently  lifted  us  to  our  feet,  a  mass  of  shreds — 
blood-stained — hanging  about  our  scratched  arms 
and  legs. 

Lydia  hastened  home  and  dressed  us  for  din 
ner,  her  face  wearing  an  innocent  expression. 
We  wouldn't  be  punished  if  she  could  prevent  it  ! 
Our  clean  frocks  mother  noted  ;  and  this,  with 
her  sympathizing  words  as  to  bruises  on  our 
hands,  cut  into  our  guilty  hearts. 

"  I  don't  want  any  pudding  to-day,  do  you, 
Dodo  ?  "  Letha  whispered.  "  Mother,  will  you 
excuse  Dodo  and  me  ?  There  are  cardinal  birds 
picking  about  our  trap  ;  perhaps  one  is  caught." 

She  was  closing  the  dining-room  door  when  a 
gentle  voice  said,  "  I  would  like  to  speak  to  my 
little  girls  in  the  nursery  before  they  go  out." 


The  Old  South.  37 

Alas  !  Our  pudding  was  uneaten,  and  we  were 
entrapped,  instead  of  red  birds. 

Quick  as  a  flash  Lydia  quitted  her  post  beside 
the  infant's  high  chair ;  for  she  did  not  wish  the 
debris  on  the  nursery  floor  to  shock  her  mis 
tress. 

Of  course  punishment  ensued  ;  for  we  might 
have  been  suffocated  but  for  timely  aid.  Besides, 
we  had  often  been  warned  not  to  put  even  our 
noses  inside  the  water-gates. 

"Which  would  you  mind  most,  Letha,  going  to 
bed  or  having  a  switching,"  mother  asked. 

"  Switch  me  and  let  me  go  to  my  trap,"  she 
replied,  crying  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

"And  you,  Dodo?" 

"  Let  me  go  to  bed,  please  ;  I'm  so  tired,  I  don't 
want  to  play  any  more  to-day." 

She  took  me  by  the  hand,  and  calmly  turned  to 
Lydia: 

"  Put  Letha  to  bed.  " 

"  Oh,  missus,  you  is  made  a  mistake  ;  it's  Letha 
don't  min'  switchin'.  " 

Waving  her  into  silence,  mother  gave  us  that 
which  was  most  disagreeable.  And  while  I  made 
the  welkin  ring,  Letha  lay  robed  in  white,  snugly 
tucked  in  bed. 

Rightfully,  I  should  have  been  one  of  the  best 
of  children, — if  prayers  of  the  righteous  avail. 


45! 


38  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

In  turning  leaves  yellow  with  age,  I  once  read  a 
prayer  earnestly  offered  in  my  behalf  that  my 
father  had  transcribed. 

On  all  well-regulated  plantations  it  v/as  a  cus 
tom  to  record  daily  events.  Accordingly,  from 
my  father's  diary  I  now  quote  a  few  paragraphs, 
which  may  give  an  insight  into  the  relationship 
existing  between  master  and  slave  : 

GREEN  FOREST,  Feb.  2d,  18— . 

The  sun  rose  clear  this  morning-,  blending-  its  rosy  light 
with  a  profusion  of  full-blown  peach  blossoms.  I  stood 
at  the  nursery  window,  after  an  anxious  night,  watching 
my  field-hands  going  to  work,  shouting  and  rejoicing  over 
the  birth  of  another  little  girl-mistress.  God  grant  that 
the  wee  infant,  cradled  in  its  mother's  arms,  may  be  a 
comfort  in  days  to  come  to  my  negroes.  In  God's  love 
may  she  and  her  slaves  ever  rest. 

February  ^th. 

According  to  old-time  negro  custom,  many  brought 
offerings  of  chickens  and  eggs  for  the  new-born  child,  en 
treating  that  they  might  have  one  peep  at  its  face. 
"  Mother "  feared  the  exposure,  but  I  could  not  resist 
their  entreaties  ;  one  by  one  they  peered  into  the  soft 
folds  of  flannel  for  a  wee  baby  face  nestling  in  Lydia's 
arms. 

Lydia's  proud  look  showed  she  hoped  that  the  child, 
Saccharissa  Alice,  would  reign  some  day  a  princess  of 
royal  blood. 


The  Old  South.  39 

The  name,  too,  delighted  the  old  women.  "  Sure,"  said 
they,  "  it's  high  time  missus  had  a  namesake." 

In  truth,  this  name  had  been  given  to  two  other  daugh 
ters,  each  in  turn,  however,  christened  otherwise.  One 
of  Lydia's  favorite  rhymes  seems  quite  apropos. 

She  represents  cocks  welcoming  in  the  dawn.  One 
crows  lustily  :  "  Woman  rules  here."  Answered:  "So 
she  does  here."  An  overgrown  Shanghai  seeming  to  say, 
"And  everywhere." 

SUNDAY,  Feb.  \&tth. 

Frank,  our  coloured  preacher,  is  not  an  ordained 
minister,  but  has  been  set  apart  by  our  pastor  and  elders 
at  Midway  church  as  a  watchman  over  Green  Forest.  He 
has  authority  to  perform  the  marriage-rite,  but  not  to  ad 
minister  the  sacrament.  He  preaches  in  the  negro  chapel, 
every  Sunday  night  where  prayer-meetings  are  held  dur 
ing  the  week.  I  attend,  by  way  of  encouragement.  To 
night  he  opened  the  meeting  with  an  earnest  appeal  to 
the  Lord  in  behalf  of  the  "dear  good  missus  an'  her 
baby." 

"  O  blessed  Master,  keep  dy  best  benediction  fer  de 
young  child  what  is  come  to  us  'long  wid  de  early  dew  an' 
de  mornin'  star.  We  is  hear  read  'bout  a  star  what  shine 
ober  Israel,  when  de  brederen  was  a-callin'  from  de  watch 
tower,  '  What  of  de  night  ? '  No  answer  come,  only  one 
little  star  a-twinklin'  an'  a-twinklin*  till  lik'  a  cloud  of  fire 
it  rise  an'  stopped  ober  de  manger  where  de  blessed  Lord 
was  a-layin'.  It  ware  a  joyous  break  o'  day,  when  de 
sheperds  found  deir  Saviour  a-sleepin'  'long  side  beasts  o' 
de  field.  Dey  straightway  took  de  best  of  all  dey  had 
an'  laid  it  at  de  feet  of  de  young  child.  An  angel  of  love 


4O  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

is  give  us  a  new  missy,  an'  we  none  on  us  kin  know  what 
a  blessin'  dis  blessed  baby  may  be  to  us  when  we  is  old 
an'  feeble.  Lord,  do  hold  dy  holy  hand  before  de  baby's 
face  so  de  debil  can't  so  much  as  peep  at  um." 

Frank  then  took  the  text,  "  Unto  us  a  child  is  born." 
His  scripture    quotations   are  ludicrously  twisted,  his 
reasoning    powers    abstruse,    but    beneath   his    tortuous 
paraphrases  is  a  deep  sense   of  God's  love  and  his  own 
unworthiness." 

March  \$th, 

To-day,  at  Midway,   the  baby  was  christened   Eugenia 
Amanda  ;  but  she  is  nicknamed  Dodo. 


The  Old  South.  41 


III. 
Eaten  by  a  Bear. 

"  Do  lovely  things,  not  dream  them  all  day  long  ; 
And  so  make  life,  death,  and  that  vast  forever 
One  grand,  sweet  song." 

CHARLES  KINGSLEY. 

EARLY  in  the  seventeenth  century  Midway 
church  was  erected  by  English  settlers. 
General  Stewart  of  Revolutionary  fame 
used  it  as  temporary  quarters  for  his  cavalry 
men,  their  horses  tramping  over  or  lying  beside 
graves  of  men  who  gave  their  lives  for  the  mother- 
country. 

Wealthy  planters  of  Siberty  County  wor 
shipped  here,  descended,  as  they  were,  from  old 
Puritan  stock  who  pinned  their  faith  on  West 
minster  Catechetical  doctrines.  For  many  years 
its  pulpit  was  occupied  by  the  Rev.  Abel  Holmes, 
whose  son,  the  illustrious  poet  Oliver  Wendel 
Holmes,  retained  ever  a  sympathy  with  and  ten 
derness  for  the  Southerner. 

At  this  period  every  one  went  to  church,  even 


42  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

babies  of  a  few  months'  old,  plantations  being 
virtually  deserted  on  the  Lord's  day. 

The  choir  sat  in  the  centre  of  the  church  gal 
lery,  and  was  led  by  one  playing  a  flute.  The 
negroes,  many  of  whom  were  members  in  good 
standing,  occupied  the  two  sides. 

The  first  Sunday  in  each  quarter  the  Lord's 
table  was  spread  in  front,  just  below  the  high 
oaken-carved  pulpit.  After  the  whites  were 
served  with  bread  and  wine,  their  slaves  de 
scended,  taking  the  vacated  chairs.  To  their 
thick  lips  they  lifted  reverentially  a  silver  chalice. 
No  one — sinner  or  backsliding  Christian — ever  left 
before  the  celebration.  And — as  with  me — these 
long  communion-table  pictures  are,  I  know,  indeli 
bly  impressed  upon  the  minds  of  many  that  are 
now  hoary-headed.  Indeed,  well  do  I  recall  the 
high-backed  pews,  at  the  head  of  which  sat  a  man, 
but  never  a  woman.  For,  years  before,  men  were 
armed  with  flint  and  steel  guns,  which  they  stood 
in  the  corner  of  the  pew,  ready  for  use. 

Indians,  in  those  days  lurked  about,  springing 
unexpectedly  upon  these  pious  folk.  So,  while  the 
gentlemen  listened  to  the  voice  of  the  preacher, 
who  expounded  for  one  hour  the  doctrines 
of  predestination  and  kindred  subjects,  they  were 
also  on  the  alert  for  the  approach  of  the  red  man. 
In  the  tents  or  in  the  two-room  shanties  surround- 


The  Old  South.  43 

ing  the  church,  lunch  was  served.  Our  cook  Affie 
prided  herself  on  the  quality  of  her  cold  turkey 
and  ham,  accompanied  with  rice  loaf  and  other 
delicacies. 

Friends  interchanged  visits  before  afternoon- 
service,  while  the  old  folks  strolled  among  the 
graves  in  the  cemetery,  reflecting,  doubtless,  how 
near  the  bottom  of  life's  hill  they  were. 

With  no  thought  that  fresh  sod  would  some 
day  be  upturned  to  receive  them,  young  people 
sat  on  the  moss-grown  tombstones,  flirting  or 
laying  bright  plans  for  future  lives  of  love. 

After  these  long  services  at  Midway,  we 
were  allowed  to  roam  about  the  Green  Forest 
Grove,  stopping  at  the  pond  to  note  how  young 
ducklings  spent  their  seventh  day.  Here,  too, 
we  found  black  boys  and  girls  dabbling  in  soft 
sticky  mud,  though  their  mothers,  before  going 
to  church,  had  scrubbed  and  dressed  them  for 
the  week. 

"  See  missy  red  frock  !     Jes,  look  at  he  tippet !  " 

"  Dat's  my  missy  what's  got  yaller  spots  an'  a 
w'ite  aprin  wid  wheels  'round  de  bottom." 

"  It's  no  sech  t'ing  ;  dat's  Juno  missy;  ma  done 
say  so." 

"  You  is  a  liar !  Dat's  Juno  missy  wid  de  gold 
shoes  (bronze)  an'  w'ite  stockens." 

"  Oh,  you  is  a  big  liar !  " 


44  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

"Stop,  children,"  I  remonstrated.  "You 
shouldn't  call  each  other  liars.  Did  you  never 
hear  of  Ananias  and  Sapphira  who  told  lies  and 
God  struck  them  dead." 

"  No,  ma'am  ;  no  ma'am.  Tell  we  'bout  Anas 
an'  Saphe." 

On  this  wise,  truths  taught  us  were  repeated  to 
groups  of  eager  piccaninnies:  how  Samuel  was 
called  and  replied,  "  Here,  Lord,  am  I  "  ;  how 
Joseph's  coat  of  many  colours  was  found.  There 
after  Sunday  stories  became  a  Sabbath  amuse 
ment.  It  rained  one  afternoon,  and  Lydia  gained 
permission  for  us  to  meet  in  the  wash-house,  thus 
beginning  a  Sunday-school  that  continued  for 
years. 

With  the  children  came  a  thick-set  old  woman 
to  be  taught.  She  wore  a  three-cornered  rag  tied 
across  her  head  ;  her  hair,  streaked  with  grey,  and 
with  stray  blanket  threads  as  well,  was  never 
molested  by  curry-brush  or  comb.  Aunt  Sallie 
had  neither  kith  nor  kin.  She  expended  her  best 
efforts  to  keep  other  persons'  offspring  quiet  on 
week  days  ;  and  on  Sunday,  not  caring,  it  seems, 
to  avail  herself  of  this  one  chance  of  rest,  she 
came  to  Sunday-school. 

For  convenience,  and  to  prevent  being  ejected 
from  a  place,  she  brought  under  her  arm  a  plank,  at 
each  corner  of  which  was  a  securely-plugged 


The  Old  South.  45 

upright  strip.  Plumping  this  bench  beside  the 
fireplace,  she  settled  herself  against  the  chimney 
jamb,  her  legs  stretched,  one  heel  dug  into  the 
ash-covered  hearth,  its  mate  placed  on  top,  while 
her  ten  toes  moved  restlessly,  resisting  the  effect  of 
a  scorching  oak-fire.  When  Samuel's  name  was 
called,  she  enthusiastically  sang  out,  "  Here, 
Lord,  is  un's."  In  accordance  with  her  dignity  as 
an  old  maid,  she  retained  her  seat  until  the  gam 
bolling  children  were  out  of  her  path,  maiden-like 
preferring  to  go  home  alone. 

Lydia's  narration  of  Aunt  Sallie's  capture  in 
Africa  had  thrilled  me  with  a  desire  to  hear  the 
story  from  her  own  lips;  so,  when  I  asked  her  to 
tell  me  where  she  lived  before  she  came  to  Green 
Forest,  she  chirpingly  replied,  "  In  de  canebrake, 
in  Wangpool." 

"  Where  is  that,  tell  me  ?" 

Picking  up  her  bench,  she  motioned  me  to 
follow,  mumbling,  "  Ole  Sal  hates  board  walls." 

Behind  the  wash-house  she  led  me;  then 
stopped  in  front  of  a  bench  used  by  house-servants 
when  off  duty.  Here  the  winter  sun  shed  its 
warmest  rays. 

The  negroes  wondered  who  had  hammered  the 
legs  of  this  bench  so  deep  into  the  earth.  Marl- 
borough  declared  he  knew  ;  for  he  had  "  seen  a 
no  'count  yaller  man  makin'  love  to  de  nurse  dere 


46  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

while  de  w'ite  chilluns  was  playin'."  On  this 
matter  Lydia  kept  her  own  council. 

Aunt  Sallie  placed  her  stool  in  front  of  this 
bench,  seated  herself,  lifting  her  feet  on  a  level 
with  her  body.  She  then  motioned  me  to  take 
the  other  end  of  the  seat. 

Chuckling,  she  exclaimed,  "  Daught,  you  is  a 
big  gal ;  w'en  I  peeped  at  you  in  de  nurs'ry  you 
was  sech  a  red  rat !  Why  don't  folks  call  you 
Sack? — dat's  missus'  name." 

Lydia  had  tried  to  break  her  of  the  habit  of 
speaking  to  us  as  "  daught,"  but  it  was  useless. 
"  Massa  an'  missus  hears  un's  call  dem  'daught ' ; 
dey  don't  'monstrate  wid  un's." 

"  Now  ;  how  about  your  father  and  mother  ?  "  I 
asked.  "  Did  you  leave  them  in  Wangpool  ?  " 

Huddling  herself  close  beside  me,  she  appeared 
to  fear  recapture,  "  Poo  (pa),"  she  said,  "  he  drink, 
dess  caise  de  king's  pen  ware  empty ;  he  punch 
un's  in  de  rib, 'You'll  do.'  Moo  (ma)  was  cookin' 
rice,  an'  w'en  she  git  a  chance  she  filled  a  calabash  : 
'  Here,  run  hide  in  de  canebrake.  Let  poo  see 
you  an'  de  king'll  swallow  you  whole.1  De  sun 
was  a  dippin'  ober  de  cane-top "  (she  ducked 
her  head  into  my  lap  as  the  scene  seemed  vividly 
recalled),  "  an'  poo  come  a  yellin'  my  name. 
Down  ter  de  riber-side  un's  flopped  behin'  de 
young  cane,  quick,  a  white  man  slap  un's  in  de 


The  Old  South.  47 

face,  den  pitch  un's  oberhe  shoulder,  so," — flirting 
her  handkerchief  across  my  shoulder. 

I  bounded  out  of  my  seat  and  on  to  my  feet, 
sure  that  a  bushy-bearded  Hollander  was  about  to 
capture  me  as  well. 

But  Aunt  Sallie,  having  recalled  her  past,  felt 
she  must  complete  the  story  : 

"  Un's  an'  lots  of  un's  was  pack  in  a  big  house 
a  rockin'  on  de  water.  De  boss  com'  an'  toss 
'longside  of  un's  rice,  but  un's  didn't  want  no 
eaten,  caise  un's  inside  was  tumblin'  out." 

"  How  many  weeks  were  you  in  the  vessel,  and 
where  did  the  white  man  take  you  to  ?  "  I  asked. 

With  a  deep  sigh  she  answered  :  "  Oh,  it  ware 
a  long  time,  daught.  Eb'ry  day  one  of  un's,  stiff 
like  a  board,  was  pitched  in  de  water.  Un's  wished 
it  war  un's." 

Suspecting  that  she  had  been  disembarked  at 
some  northern  port,  I  inquired,  "  When  you 
reached  land  where  did  you  go  ?  " 

She  rose,  and,  hobbling  on  one  foot,  at 
tempted  to  show  how  she  walked  when  dragged 
out,  her  side,  she  said,  bleeding :  drawing  her 
faded  shawl  about  her,  she  chattered  her  tooth 
less  gums,  giving,  as  she  evidently  desired, 
the  idea  of  one  suffering  from  a  chill.  "  De 
sand  was  cold,  it  burned  un's  toes ;  w'ite 
feathers  like  rain  was  droppin'  from  de  moon." 


48  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

Lifting  one  foot,  then  another,  she  chafed  their 
bare  soles.  (She  could  not  be  induced  to  wear 
shoes.) 

"  Would  you  like  to  go  back  to  the  canebrakes 
in  Wangpool?" 

Realising  that  no  present  danger  surrounded 
her,  she  leaned  against  the  wash-house,  perched 
her  bare  feet  once  more  upon  her  stool  and,  in 
real  camp-meeting  style,  clapped  her  hands,  shout 
ing,  "Glory,  glory,  bless  de  Lord!  Un's  has 
plenty  sun,  plenty  taters,  plenty  rice,  an'  a  good 
boss.  Bless  de  Lord!  Glory,  hallelujah!  Samuel, 
wey  is  you  ?  Here,  Lord,  is  un's." 

And  Aunt  Sallie  understood  the  art  of  shouting, 
too,  her  rhythm  of  sound  thrilling  the  soul  of 
every  one  that  ever  heard  her.  When  she  "  got 
religion,"  she  doubtless  was  borne  out  of  church 
on  a  door,  showing  no  sign  of  life,  save  an  occa 
sional  cry  for  mercy  or  a  shout  of  exultation. 

In  spite  of  .all  the  cruelties  that  have  been 
depicted,  there  were  many  happy  scenes  on  south 
ern  plantations.  Certainly  in  Siberty  county, 
where  we  lived.  Unfortunately,  however,  it  had 
to  be  vacated  by  the  whites  from  May  until 
November.  For,  notwithstanding  the  miasmatic 
feeding  properties  of  the  grey  moss, — that  curse 
of  a  southern  clime, — fever  and  ague  sometimes 
shook  one  from  head  to  foot  on  the  hottest 


The  Old  South.  49 

day  in  August.  To  avoid  this,  sixteen  wealthy 
planters  settled  a  village  in  the  pine  land,  calling 
it  Greenville,  in  honour  of  Green  Forest's  owner. 
Summer  residences  dotted  the  streets,  gay  flower 
beds  in  front  and  vegetable  gardens  in  the  rear. 
There  was  one  Presbyterian  church,  in  charge  of 
Midway's  pastor,  and  also  a  school-house  ;  but  no 
shop  or  store. 

Children  reared  in  Greenville  recall  vividly 
floggings  they  had  in  its  house  of  learning. 
For  the  master  declared  that,  as  he  was  paid 
to  teach,  he  would  see  that  "birds  that  could 
sing  and  wouldn't  sing,  were  made  to  sing." 
And  how  he  often  flounced  a  boy,  face  down, 
across  a  bench ! — using  freely  an  oaken  paddle. 

Father  McCall,  who  taught  this  teacher,  had, 
it  appears,  set  him  a  bad  example.  And  after  a 
long  and  arduous  life  in  pulpit  and  country  school, 
the  aged  clergyman  had,  as  his  sole  earthly  pos 
sessions,  an  old  white  horse,  Bob,  and  a  faithful 
coloured  man,  Daniel.  His  declining  years  he 
spent  visiting  among  his  former  pupils.  Our 
parent  was  his  favourite  one — to  judge  from  the 
frequency  of  his  visits.  And  the  mere  memory 
of  interminable  hours  of  agony  that  ensued  for 
Letha  and  me,  still  revive  apprehension.  In  fact, 
whenever  we  recognised  the  jogging  trot  of  old  Bob 
coming  down  the  avenue,  we  fled, — if  we  could. 
4 


50  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

Father  McCall,  however,  died  at  the  age  of 
eighty-three,  at  a  neighbour's,  in  a  room  named 
Purgatory.  Owing  to  his  dislike  for  the  old  clergy 
man,  whom  he  nevertheless  had  to  entertain,  the 
host  had  assigned  him  to  this  chamber. 

Lydia  was  deeply  impressed  by  this  incident. 
The  truth  is,  she  had  despised  him  for  a  long 
time  for  alway  scolding  "  her  children,"  who 
chanced  to  doze  while  he  prayed  for  twenty 
minutes  round  our  family  altar.  She  also  often 
thrilled  us  with  accounts  of  his  cruelty  when  in 
charge  of  a  country  school. 

Indeed,  according  to  Lydia's  narration,  Father 
McCall,  in  the  eighteenth  century,  actually  put 
an  unruly  boy  under  the  loose  slab  of  a  brick 
grave, — birches  having  been  broken  over  his 
shoulder  without  avail. 

"  Dat  day,"  Lydia  said,  "the  chilluns  was  all 
whisp'rin',  wond'rin'  if  poor  Stephens  would  be 
smothered.  De  dismissal  bell  had  no  sooner 
tapped  dan  de  whole  school  rushed  out  an'  on 
ter  de  grave  ter  see  de  daid  boy.  No  boy  was 
there,  only  a  pile  of  loose  earth  wid  a  shoe-sole 
on  top, — jes  as  if  de  skeleton  had  tossed  de 
cum'brin'  clay.  '  He's  daid ! '  de  chilluns  shouted ; 
'  oh,  where  is  Stephen  ? '  It  was  den  dat  hard 
hearted  man  called  out,  '  Stephen,  you  rascal, 
come  out  o'  dat  hole  ! '  Crawlin'  backward  from 


The  Old  South.  51 

de  tunnel  he  had  dug  de  poor  boy  stood  up  as 
dirty  as  a  pig,  wid  a  tired,  hongry  look  in  his 
eyes." 

This  thrilling  story  was  always  told  us  when 
tucked  in  bed,  followed  by  the  injunction,  "  Chil- 
luns,  go  ter  sleep  ;  it's  late."  One  of  Lydia's 
peculiarities  was  that  she  never  forgot  harrowing 
details. 

On  Sundays,  sitting  in  a  rear  pew  of  Green 
ville's  church,  she  listened  with  rapt  attention  to 
Biblical  accounts  of  hell-fire  and  brimstone. 

Letha  and  I  reaped  the  benefit  of  her  reten 
tive  memory:  when  more  inclined  to  play  than 
sleep,  we  have  spent  agonising  moments  looking 
for  red  flashes  beside  our  trundle-bed. 

Sunday  was  a  holy  day  in  Greenville  ;  chins 
dropped  two  inches,  and  a  really  spread-mouth 
laugh  was  marked  as  an  unpardonable  sin.  Horses 
were  never  harnessed  ;  coachmen,  therefore,  had 
sly  opportunities  for  quiet  flirtations. 

Rows  of  cabins  were  built  in  the  rear  of  the 
village-dwellings  ;  for  house-servants  and  the  con 
valescent  from  our  plantations. 

Nights  were  merry  over  quilting-frames,  where 
old  women  helped  with  the  quilting  ;  coachmen, 
maids,  and  footmen  standing  by,  threading 
needles. 

Feede,  Mr.  Winn's  cook,  who  was  especially 


52  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

clever,  agreed  to  superintend  the  laying  of  a 
quilt  for  Dean's  seamstress.  Wishing,  then,  to  be 
sure  that  everything  was  ready  before  quilting 
began,  she  tucked  her  four-year-old  son  John  in 
bed,  covered  him  head  and  ears,  and  hastened  to 
the  quilting-bee. 

But  green  plums  and  unripe  peaches  kept  John 
awake,  and,  notwithstanding  his  overburdened 
but  unsatisfied  stomach,  he  stole  out  of  bed,  in 
tending  to  make  his  way  to  Dean's,  in  search  of 
a  bite  of  quilting-supper.  For  "little  pitchers 
have  big  ears."  John  then  and  there  disap 
peared. 

The  quilt  was  finished,  tightly  rolled,  and  laid 
aside.  An  hour  before  dawn,  Feede  rushed 
home,  hoping  to  get  a  wink  of  sleep  before  pre 
paring  her  master's  breakfast. 

To  her  dismay  she  found  her  little  girl  Amy 
alone  under  the  blankets.  From  one  cabin  to  an 
other  she  rushed,  asking,  "  Is  you  see  dat  rascal 
of  a  nigger  John  ?  De  black  imp  is  quit  my  bed 
an'  gone  de  Lord  knows  where." 

The  negroes  of  the  village,  frightened  and  talk 
ing  together  in  groups,  concluded  certain  sounds 
some  one  had  heard,  were  the  growls  of  the  mate 
of  a  big  black  bear  killed  the  summer  before 
in  Bulltown  Swamp,  a  few  miles  away  ;  Its  skin 
now  served  as  a  door-mat,  to  the  horror  of  some, 


The  Old  South.  53 

and  to  the  amusement  of  other,  small  ones  of  the 
place. 

After  the  sun  rose,  a  footman  put  the  black 
populace  into  a  fever  of  excitement  by  declaring 
that  he  saw  distinct  foot-prints  of  a  monster  bear 
in  the  road  opposite  Mr.  Winn's  cottage. 

Rushing  to  her  master's  room,  Feede  roused 
him  with  the  startling  news,  that  her  boy  John 
had  been  eaten  "  head  an'  foot  "  by  a  big  black 
bear." 

The  men  of  the  village  were  soon  in  their 
saddles,  fully  armed  for  a  hunt  in  the  swamp. 

Not  a  vestige  of  John  was  found.  And  though 
Feede  had  often  thrashed  him,  declaring  he  was 
"  de  wuss  little  rascal  in  Greenville,  an'  would 
some  day  git  his  desarts  if  he  didn't  men'  his 
ways,"  she  now  appeared  broken-hearted.  For  a 
new-made  grave  covers  many  faults. 

Lydia,  who  was  familiar  with  the  adventures 
recorded  in  the  "  Young  Marooners,"  determined 
to  protect  her  household  from  the  jaws  of  wild 
beasts.  She  therefore  stripped  an  old  red  flannel 
petticoat  into  long  bits,  and  tacked  them  about 
her  cabin  door  and  window,  and  each  night  she 
made  sure  that  a  pot  of  water  boiled  in  the  chim 
ney-corner,  with  a  tin  ladle  near  by,  so  as  to  scald 
Bruin's  eyes. 

The  servants  were  not  the  only  ones  excited 


54  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

over  this  strange  disappearance.  Ladies,  in  ex- 
changing  visits,  could  talk  of  little  else. 

Greenville  was  built  in  the  midst  of  a  wide 
extent  of  pine  forest,  where  never  a  traveller 
passed,  and  from  which  long  ago  the  red  man  had 
fled  to  the  canebrakes  of  Florida. 

In  the  nursery  Lydia  moaned,  "  If  we  could 
only  see  dat  w'ite  scar  on  de  poor  daid  John's 
left  arm." 

Our  summer  retreat  had  no  lack  of  snakes ;  a 
few  days  of  warm  sunshine  and  out  they  crawled, 
in  new  spring  coats  of  many  colours.  We  hung 
their  rusty  discarded  skins  about  Lydia's  neck  ; 
then  she  added  them  to  the  adornments  of  her 
cabin,  as  "  charms  to  keep  'way  ghosts." 

Mocking-birds,  our  southern  nightingales,  trilled 
their  softest  love-notes  from  dawn  till  mid 
night  :  imitating  the  barking  of  dogs,  mewing  of 
cats,  and  even  the  crying  of  children  ;  and  the 
last  so  effectively  as  to  deceive  mothers  and 
nurses.  Near  the  dwellings  they  built  their  nests, 
and  their  young  were  our  household  pets. 

One  morning,  I  remember,  a  cry  of  distress 
hastened  my  father  from  the  breakfast-room  ;  he 
wondered  what  could  ail  one  of  the  feathered 
denizens  of  his  home. 

Cuddled  in  a  warm  nest,  between  the  limbs  of 
a  spikenard  tree,  were  four  bare-bodied  birds, 


The  Old  South.  55 

hungry,  and  doubtless  wondering  why  the  early 
worm  was  not  at  hand.  The  mother-bird,  in  truthv 
was  under  the  power  of  a  monstrous  rattlesnake 
coiled  at  the  root  of  a  spreading  laurel-tree.  From 
a  wide  to  a  narrowing  circle  she  flew,  uttering 
notes  of  distress,  unable,  however,  to  resist  the 
fascinating  eyes  of  the  serpent,  glistening  above 
the  coil.  The  tail  protruded  on  the  side,  its 
chain  of  rattles  constantly  in  motion.  By  a  hw 
of  nature  rattlesnakes  cannot  strike,  and  so  eject 
poison,  without  first  ringing  bells  as  a  warning. 

Seeing  that  the  power  of  the  bird  was  waning, 
father  fired  his  gun. 

The  smoke  cleared  away.  We  beheld  a  reptile 
six  feet  long,  with  twelve  rattles  and  one  button, 
making  its  age  thirteen  years. 

Lydia  danced  with  excitement,  saying,  "  De 
horrid  t'ing,  day  by  day  watchin'  my  chilluns  at 
play.  He  had  a  taste  of  poor  John's  black  fing 
ers,  I's  sure,  caise  bears  an'  snakes  is  good 
friends." 


56  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 


IV. 

Daddy  Toby's  Courtship, 

"  A  damsel  has  ensnared  him  with  the  glances 
Of  her  dark  roving  eyes,  as  herdsmen  catch 
A  steer  of  Andalusia  with  a  lasso." 

LONGFELLOW 

A  GORGEOUS  Indian  summer  set  in,  as  the 
season  of  sunshine  and  heated  air  waned. 
Peas  and  bean  stalks  were  dry  and 
withered.  Relieving  the  death-like  aspect  here 
and  there  were  poles  covered  with  gay-blooming 
cypress  vines,  with  crimson  stars  peeping  from 
beneath  the  feathery  green  leaves.  The  cheek  of 
apples  and  of  quinces,  too,  had  felt  the  kiss  of  the 
summer's  sun,  helping  thus  to  redeem  the  look  of 
desolation. 

In  the  kitchen  our  cook  Affie  busied  herself  in 
preserving  fruit  for  winter  use  ;  often  nodding 
while  her  pot  boiled.  From  her  father,  an  Indian 
warrior,  she  inherited  a  fiery  temper ;  still  we  de 
lighted  in  playing  tricks  whenever  she  slept. 

Finding  her  snoring  one  day,  with  her  dress- 
front  open,  Letha  caught  a  live  toad,  and  bade 


The  Old  South.  57 

me — ever  her  willing  servant — drop  it  into  Affie's 
bosom. 

I  had  no  sooner  done  so,  than  she  picked  up  a 
lightwood  knot,  and,  but  for  timely  aid  from 
Marlborough,  all  practical  jokes  for  me  would 
have  been  at  an  end. 

From  our  parents  we  inherited  a  fondness  for 
fun  and  frolic.  Of  course  no  one  suspected  our 
mother  of  playing  tricks, — with  her  large  family 
and  numerous  guests.  Notwithstanding,  she  did 
play  them  ;  and  many.  Lydia,  too,  was  always  her 
ready  accomplice  ;  in  fact,  she  would,  with  a  face 
as  serene  as  if  sitting  at  the  communion  table, 
present  a  dish  of  night  supper  to  a  room  full  of 
girls  preparing  for  bed,  saying,  "  Wid  de  compli 
ments  of  Mars  John  Castle  an'  his  friends." 

In  truth,  not  one  load  of  shot  had  been  ex 
pended  by  any  of  the  young  men  in  killing  the 
red-headed  woodpeckers  that  were  boiled  in  the 
bird  pillau,  prepared  for  a  night-supper  treat, 
their  bitter  and  uneatable  flesh  impregnating 
every  grain  of  rice. 

Mother,  at  other  times,  regaled  the  boys  with  a 
platter  of  cakes  well-lined  with  cotton  wool.  Girls 
and  boys'  declarations  of  innocence  were,  of  course, 
never  believed  by  either. 

Evening  entertainments  were  frequent  at  Green 
Forest.  A  very  amusing  one  was  when  each  young 


58  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

guest  was  robed  in  a  sheet,  with  a  pillow-case  for 
turban ;  suggestive  of  ghostly  visitors  but  for 
rosy  lips  and  laughing  voices.  However,  no  one 
was  allowed  to  waltz  or  polka  save  with  brothers 
or  cousins. 

It  is  true  that  the  blue  laws  of  Connecticut 
had  long  been  abolished,  but  our  parents  were 
very  strict.  At  the  festivities  held  on  our  planta 
tion,  Daddy  Toby  and  his  string  band  supplied 
the  music  for  dancing.  Toby  was  the  professor 
of  love-making  on  the  estate,  coaching  young  men 
how  to  make  known  their  feelings,  and  maids  how 
to  accept  a  proffered  hand  or  heart. 

In  fact,  Toby  had  mastered  the  science  of  love- 
making  ;  and  he  magnanimously  employed  his 
skill  for  the  benefit  of  his  race. 

One  of  Green  Forest's  honored  guests,  Gerald 
Jones,  being  in  sore  distress,  resolved  to  enlist 
the  professor's  aid.  "  Teach  me,  Toby,"  said  he, 
"  for  my  nights  are  nightmares  of  despair.  My 
girl  laughs  when  I  swear  she's  the  idol  of  my 
heart.  I  must  convince  her  somehow  that  I 
adore  her." 

Surrounded  by  a  merry  group  of  young  people, 
Toby  tingled  the  strings  of  his  banjo,  and  grinned 
from  ear  to  ear. 

"  Boss,  I  can't  teach  w'ite  folks ;  it's  only 
niggars  needs  larnin'." 


The  Old  South.  59 

Gerald's  bosom-friend  rushed  to  the  supper- 
room,  and  returned  with  half  a  cake,  snow-white, 
with  sugar  frosting.  "  Here,  Professor,  is  your 
fee  ;  payable  at  once.  Let's  have  the  lesson." 

Toby  claimed  a  fee  for  his  services:  a  brace 
of  partridges,  a  dozen  eggs,  a  chicken,  or  pos 
sum. 

The  cake  was  not  to  be  resisted.  So,  pulling 
himself  together  with  a  desperate  effort,  he 
scratched  his  kinky  head,  cleared  his  throat, 
half  closed  his  eyes, — in  clairvoyance  style, — and 
gently  twanged  the  treble  strings  of  his  instru 
ment. 

"Now,  sah,"  said  he,  "put  on  your  bes'  Sun- 
day-go-ter-meetin'  clothes,  parfume  your  nose 
rag  wid  allegator's  musk,  comb  your  hair  slick 
wid  bear's  grease,  wash  your  face  wid  soft  soap 
suds  ;  fer  it  must  shine  wid  love  bubblin'  in  your 
t'roat.  Flirt  your  hick'ry  stick,  keepin'  time  wid 
your  quick-beatin'  heart  "  (indicating  the  same 
with  his  fiddle-bow).  "  Call  at  de  young  lady's 
house." 

Thumping  three  times  on  the  body  of  his  banjo, 
he  simulated  the  voice  from  within,  "'Whose 
dar?' 

"  '  De  hon'rable  Mr.  Axson.' 

"  '  Will  de  hon'rable  Mr.  Axson  pull  de  latch- 
string  an'  com'  in  ? '  '  Good  ev'nin',  Miss.  De 


60  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

hon'rable  Mr.  Axson  is  tak'  dis  fav'rable  chance 
of  payin'  his  'spects  ter  de  lovely  Miss  Dix.' — Be 
sure  you  bows  low. 

" '  Will  de  hon'rable  Mr.  Axson  take  a  seat 
an'  be  seated  on  de  bench  in  de  chimney-jamb  ? ' 
'  T'ank  you,  my  dear  miss.' 

"  When  you  is  crossed  your  legs,  like  w'ifce  folks, 
pull  out  your  han'kerchief ;  wipe  de  bear's  grease 
from  your  forehead  ;  blow  your  nose  ;  den  pro 
ceed,  saying,  'A  July  sun  is  turnin'  de  corn-blades 
ter  windward,  de  water  floodin'  de  rice-fields  sends 
de  stalks  galavantin'  from  side  ter  side  ; '  den,  wid 
a  tender  understanding  ask  if  de  young  lady  is 
been  watchin'  de  cotton -sprouts,  what  de  warm 
sun  makes  grows,  jes  like  love,  'fore  you  know  it 
dey  is  great  bushes  an'  de  fowls  of  de  air  comes 
an'  builds  deir  nest.  '  Now,  miss,  has  you  notice 
de  moon  rises  later  eb'ry  quarter, — whisp'rin' 
'cross  de  fire, — dat  old  prophets  say  de  full  moon 
makes  folks  fall  in  love.'  At  dis  moment  you 
must  jump  ter  your  feet  wid  an  ecstasy,  declarin' 
dose  larned  men  knew  what  dey  was  discoursin' 
'bout,  caise  since  de  las'  full  moon  de  heart  of 
de  hon'rable  Mr.  Axson  is  been  burnin'  ter  cin 
ders.  Dis  is  a  convenient  time  fer  plump  your 
bench  close  beside  de  gal  cornered  by  de  right 
han'  chimney-jamb.  Your  heart's  a-beatin*  lik'  a 
big  drum  ;  it's  a  ticklish  minute,  but  lean  forward, 


The  Old  South.  61 

an'  wid  de  impression  of  a  preacher,  whisper  'My 
dearest  Miss  Dix,  is  de  hon'rable  Mr.  Axson's 
comp'ny  'ceptableso  far  dis  eb'nin'  ?  '  (Gals  likes 
ter  count  on  fingers  an'  toes  deir  chances  ter  git 
married.  Don't  proceed  widout  a  clue.)  Tossin' 
her  pretty  head,  she  says,  '  I  ain't  t'ought  much 
'bout  it  yet.' 

"  '  Now,  my  lovely  Miss  Dix,  bend  your  intel- 
egent  min'  ter  cogitate,  caise  Mr.  Axson  is  mak' 
dis  eb'nin'  call  wid  de  full  purpose  of  'dressin' 
you  wid  a  cou'tship.  Floppin'  her  han's  over 
her  sparklin'  eyes,  she  sings  out,  so  folks  kin  hear, 
'  Oh  !  -Mr.  Axson,  you  is  com*  fer  mak'  game  of 
me.'  Now's  your  chance!  Drop  on  your  knees, 
foldin'  your  finger-tips  ober  your  heart  hammer- 
in'  ginst  de  coat-front.  Turn  your  eyes  upward 
wid  an  ag'ny  drippin'  out  de  corners;  say  wid 
great  impression,  '  Lord  bless  your  soul,  my  dear 
little  miss,  de  sight  of  you  dis  eb'nin'  is  'nough 
ter  shake  de  heart  of  a  lion.  What  you  t'inks  of 
a  human  bein*  ?  I's  been  a  commissioner  fer 
ladies  dis  twenty  years,  an'  no  young  lady  is  eber 
before  bring  Mr.  Axson  mind  ter  compose  till  you 
has  dis  eb'nin'.  I'd  rather  have  a  kiss  from  your 
rosy  mouth  dan  t'irty  pieces  of  silver.' 

"  Gals  makes  it  a  p'int  of  bein'  shy  de  furs 
night.  But  keep  your  courage  ;  don't  be  coward. 
You  is  sow'd  de  seed  ;  let  de  peach  season  in  de 


62  Lyddy:  A  Tale  of 

brandy.  Make  a  move  ter  go  home  an'  watch 
how  Miss  Dix  hates  fer  see  you  leavin'. 

"  Your  hickory  under  your  armpits,  your  stove 
pipe  on  de  back  of  your  head,  lean  ober,  an'  when 
shakin'  hands  say  :  *  If  de  hon'rable  Mr.  Axson's 
comp'ny  is  anyway  'ceptable  ter  Miss  Dix,  he'll 
call  ag'in  at  another  time  an'  mak*  a  call '  ;  put 
your  hot  lips  on  de  knuckles  of  Miss  Dix's  right 
paw.  Niggers  is  used  to  cuffin' — you  may  git  a 
real  love  blow  'long  side  your  nose." 

Toby's  thoughts  prompted  action,  and  he  ac 
cordingly  made  a  low  bow  to  Gerald,  who  had 
stood  prominently  forward  while  receiving  his 
instructions.  The  old  man  then  picked  up  the 
frosted  cake,  and  bounded  out  of  the  room  before 
any  one  recovered  from  their  surprise,  leaving  his 
banjo  and  hat  behind.  Search  proved  unavailing  ; 
for  he  was  doubtless  behind  a  live-oak  tree  in  the 
dark  storing  away  the  cake,  before  the  honor 
able  Miss  Dix,  that  was,  could  get  hold  of  it. 

Considerable  shrewdness  is  woven  into  this 
stereotyped,  parrot-like  form  of  a  cornfield  negro's 
courtship. 

I  have  written  it  verbatim,  but  the  main  har 
mony  and  music  of  it  is  lost  in  not  hearing  it 
intoned  by  untutored  lips. 

Gerald  Jones,  with  this  fair  start,  was  able  to 
conclude  his  love-making. 


The  Old  South.  63 

Toby  voiced  the  opinion  of  the  plantation, 
when  he  declared  that,  "  Had  Molbro  been  prop 
erly  instructed  his  pie  would  never  have  turned  to 
dough  "  ;  while  Scipio  declared,  "  It  was  ahvay  so 
wid  hot-headed,  pompous  mens  holdin'  a  pair  of 
carriage-lines,  t'inkin'  dey  had  more  sense,  even 
'bout  love-makin',  dan  odder  folks  ;  any  blind 
man  could  see  dat  Molbro  was  caught  in  briar 
brambles — married  to  one  'oman  an'  groanin'  for 
anodder  man's  wife."  He  summed  up  by  saying, 
"  Take  heed,  young  mens  an'  'omens,  take  heed  ; 
massais  give  me  'structions,  an'  I's  goin'  ter  force 
dem  at  de  p'int  of  dis  whip," — which  then  emitted 
a  shrill,  popping  sound.  "  Men  an'  'omens  be 
warned,  'specially  ag'in  free  yaller  niggars." 


64  Lyddy :  A  Tale  of 


V. 

Machiah  Baptised. 

"  That  all-softening,  overpowering  knell, 
The  tocsin  of  the  soul — the  dinner-bell.1' 

BYRON. 

WHEN  we  gave  place  to  newcomers  in  the 
nursery,  Lydia  told  to  our  successors 
the  story  of  a  dainty  supper  enjoyed 
years  before  by  a  Bulltown  Swamp  bear  and  a 
rattlesnake. 

And  from  time  to  time  she,  with  cabalistic 
signs  and  enigmatic  looks,  invoked  the  aid  of 
supernatural  spirits  to  keep  order.  The  most 
fiery  temper  would  soon  be  quelled,  as  the  young 
ster  was  ever  eager  to  listen  to  her  mysterious 
narrations.  With  Toby,  she  was  convinced  that 
all  graveyards  were  full  of  live  ghosts,  popping  up 
o'  nights,  like  Jack  o'  Lanterns. 

Few  negroes,  in  fact,  would  pass  Midway  cem 
etery,  or  any  other  one,  after  dark.  Compelled 
to  do  so,  they  turned  their  pockets  wrongside 
out. 


The  Old  South.  65 

The  alternate  preachers  at  Pleasant  Grove 
church  in  vain  warned  their  congregations  not  to 
believe  in  ghosts  ;  it  was  unworthy  of  a  true 
Christian  faith  !  At  best,  however,  we  are  but 
frail  mortals,  prone  to  stumble.  And  so  Parson 
Lee  reflected  one  night  when  returning,  on  horse 
back,  from  a  deathbed.  As  he  reached  Midway 
cemetery  he  reined  in  his  weary  horse,  peering 
among  the  dimly-outlined  graves.  For  the  en 
suing  Sunday's  sermon  a  suitable  text  recurred 
to  his  mind,  and  was  audibly  repeated  :  "  Arise, 
ye  righteous  !  Come  to  judgment !  " 

To  his  horror,  from  behind  a  vaulted  sepulchre, 
came  a  reply  clear  and  distinct,  "  Yea,  Lord,  I'm 
coming."  His  mare,  urged  by  rusty  spurs,  gal 
loped  home.  But  next  Lord's  day  the  preacher's 
text  was  not  "  Arise,  ye  righteous  !  " 

Lydia  was  not  alone  in  her  fondness  for  ghostly 
narrations ;  workers  in  cotton  and  corn-fields 
were  constantly  repeating  new  yarns,  mingled 
with  gossip.  Interest  seemed  now  to  be  centred 
on  the  frequency  of  Marlborough's  visits  to  Pro 
fessor  Joe  Lament's  place, 

James,  being  a  fisherman,  he  could  come  to  his 
wife  only  from  Saturday  until  Monday. 

Marlborough  accompanied  his  master  on  busi 
ness  trips,  and  as  he  was  well  versed  in  the  news 
of  the  day,  Lydia  was  often  seen  in  close  talk 


66  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

with  him.  But,  though  only  gratifying  her  in 
quiring  turn  of  mind,  her  action  was  stigmatized 
as  a  flirtation  with  her  former  lover. 

One  great  amusement  to  her  was  the  arrival  of 
negroes,  bought  at  auction  marts. 

As  a  girl,  she  had  experienced  the  excitement, 
and  now  when  three  blasts  of  the  plantation 
bugle  assembled  the  field  negroes  for  the  cere 
mony  of  an  introduction,  she  was  always  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  crowd  with  her  "  w'ite  chilluns." 

Scipio,  the  foreman,  conducted  to  the  front 
Caesar,  a  fine-looking  negro  man,  with  his  wife 
Molly  and  his  daughter  Peggy. 

As  was  his  custom,  my  father  then  introduced 
them  ;  adding,  "  Caesar,  you  and  your  family  have 
come  to  work  among  us.  I'm  sure  my  people  will 
give  you  a  welcome."  With  a  merry  twinkle  in 
his  eyes,  he  turned  to  a  group  of  young  men : 
"  Cracow,  Stephney,  Cyrus,  you  marriageable 
fellows,  come  forward.  Let  me  present  Peggy ! 
It's  about  time  we  were  having  a  marriage-feast, 
don't  you  think?  I've  a  fatted  calf,  and  I'm 
sure  we  would  all  enjoy  a  slice  of  wedding-cake. 

Peals  of  laughter  ensued,  and  scores  of  fingers 
pointed  in  the  direction  of  an  overgrown  youth, 
six  feet  in  his  shoes.  "  Massa,  ain't  you  take 
notice  how  slick  dat  boy  Cracow  combs  his  wool?  " 
asked  one  old  man.  "  Don't  you  see  him  eb'ry 


The  Old  South.  67 

day  helpin'  Chloe  hoe  he  row?  We  is  all  on  us 
groanin'  fer  a  bite  of  w'ite  cake." 

"  Cracow  and  Chloe,  step  to  the  front,"  said 
my  father.  "  I'll  decide  how  you'll  suit  before 
giving  my  consent." 

Cracow  appeared,  proudly  touching  his  fore 
lock  ;  he  looked  wistfully  in  the  direction  of  a 
group  of  women ;  but  Chloe  was  nowhere  to  be 
seen  :  she  was  crouching  behind  her  companions. 

"  You  have  my  blessing,  Cracow,"  continued 
my  father.  "  Remember,  women  need  a  bit 
of  coaxing.  "  Scipio,  give  Caesar  and  his  family 
the  double  house,  number  twenty-five." 

A  small,  thickset  man,  with  wife  and  three 
young  children,  was  next  announced. 

"  Machiah,  you  are  now  on  a  plantation  where 
kindness  will  be  shown  you.  I  bought  you, 
determined  to  allow  you  a  chance  to  turn  over  a 
new  leaf  and  so  make  a  man  of  yourself,  and  I'm 
sure  these,  my  people,  will  help  you.  Do  your 
work,  and  you'll  find  no  cause  for  complaint 
here." 

"  Dat  you  won't,"  happy  voices  sang  out.  If 
you  neber  had  a  good  master  in  Floridy,  you's 
got  one  now  ! " 

"  Thank  you  !  "  And,  with  a  smile,  my  father 
lifted  his  hat,  showing  a  noble  white  forehead. 

Machiah's  scowl  turned  to  a  grin  :  "  My  new 


68  Lyddy :  A  Tale  of 

massa,  I's  goin'  ter  do  my  best,  but  ole  man 
Wiley  beat  me  so,  my  back  was  sore  de  most  on 
de  time." 

Again  a  chorus  of  voices  spoke :  "  Do  your 
work,  brudder,  an'  you'll  hav'  no  sore  back  on 
Green  Forest." 

With  uncovered  head  Frank,  noting  his  oppor 
tunity,  bowed  to  his  master  ;  and  then,  turning  to 
Machiah,  he  pointed  to  Peter's  crowing  cock. 
44  Come  to  dat  chu'ch,  brudder,  deir  de  Holy 
Speret  teches  de  innards.  I's  see  lots  of  niggers 
no  'count  tel  de  Speret  flies  at  dem,  sayin'  Stop  ! 
sinner  !  stop  ! " 

Lydia  and  4<  her  children  "  huddled  together  for 
protection  from  Ws  startling  words  and  gestures. 
"  Stop,  I  say.  Sinner,  you  may  dance  up  dat 
broad  road,  but  dose  lights  is  a  blazin'  from  a 
volcano,  an'  w'en  it  bu'st  out,  'you'll  hurry  an' 
scurry  only  ter  fall  ober  de  Niag'ra  where  t'undei 
roars  an*  de  sun  of  rej'icin*  is  gone  down,  de  moon 
turned  ter  blood.  In  dat  chu'ch  a  sweet  word  is 
callin',  '  Don't  be  fread  !  com'  ter  me.  I  de  Lord 
kin  still  de  storm.  Peace  be  yourn.' ' 

The  crowd  responded,  "Amen!  Amen!" 
listening  so  attentively  as  not  to  note  the  sup 
pressed  smile  on  their  master's  face,  who  turned 
to  Scipio,  saying,  "Give  Machiah  house  number 
twenty." 


The  Old  South.  69 

A  thrifty  woman,  who,  on  Sunday  nights,  occa 
sionally  treated  her  family  to  a  fried  fowl,  occupied 
the  adjoining  cabin. 

One  Monday  morning  she  lodged  her  com 
plaint  :  "  Massa,  de  young  rooster  was  done  ter 
a  turn,  an'  I  stepped  out  de  front  dooe  ter  call 
Bob  an'  de  chilluns  ;  w'en  I  goes  ter  sarve  up  dat 
chicken,  dey  was  only  de  empty  fryin'  pan  a 
frizzlin'.  We  track  de  grease  outside  de  back 
dooe  an'  nobody  is  eat  dat  fowl  but  dat  no  'count 
niggar  Kiah." 

In  truth,  it  was  a  week  before  Machiah  was 
seen,  his  wife  declaring  she  didn't  know  where 
he  had  gone. 

When  the  store-room  was  opened  to  give 
weekly  rations,  on  Saturday  night,  Machiah  came 
in  his  turn.  "  Massa,"  he  said,  "  please,  sah,  scuse 
me  dis  time  ;  I  couldn't  help  it,  sah.  But  if  you'll 
scuse  me  I  is  neber  goin'  in  de  woods  ag'in." 

Without  a  word  of  reproof,  his  master  looked 
at  him.  With  a  kindly  but  troubled  face,  he  then 
turned  to  Scipio,  saying,  "  Give  him  his  meat, 
peas,  potatoes,  and  corn-meal.  I  promised  to 
allow  him  a  fair  chance  to  do  better." 

However,  scarcely  a  day  thereafter  but  some 
complaint  arose  and  was  lodged  against  Machiah. 

Frank,  as  watchman,  strove  to  do  his  duty,  and 
prayed  earnestly  at  the  weekly  meetings :  "  O 


70  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

Holy  Speret  !  Fold  d'y  wings  ober  de  eyes  of  dat 
rampant  sinner  sleepin'  in  de  hedges  an'  by 
ways.  Wid  dy  mighty  power  lead  him  blin'  fold 
ter  de  t'rone  of  grace,  whey  is  bounteous 
pardon." 

From  bench  to  bench  rose  "  Amen  !  Amen  !  " 

Scipio  fingered  his  "  cotton  planter,"  strapped 
across  his  shoulders, — an  insignia  of  his  rank  ! 

Machiah  evidently  felt  the  jeers  of  his  fellow- 
labourers  more  than  he  did  his  master's  reproofs; 
and  by  a  mere  accident,  a  new  turn  was  given  to 
the  usual  mode  of  punishment. 

Three  blasts  of  the  bugle  brought  the  people 
together  again,  many  having  in  their  hands  long 
switches.  With  a  tone  of  sadness  my  father 
spoke  : 

"  Stand  to  the  front,  those  of  you  who  have 
been  cutting  my  young  trees.  Scipio,  file  them 
into  two  lines,  six  feet  apart." 

Lydia  wondered  whatever  was  to  pay. 

Walking  up  to  Machiah,  my  father  continued, 
"  Here  are  twenty  men  and  women  who  can  prove 
that  you,  Machiah,  have  stolen  from  them  ;  and, 
though  your  master  admitted  to  me  that  you 
would  occasionally  sleep  in  the  woods,  I  brought 
you  to  this  comfortable  home,  believing  kindness 
would  make  you  a  better  man.  Frank  has  urged 
you  to  go  to  church,  and  offered  prayer  for  you, 


The  Old  South.  71 

but  it  has  done  no  good  ;  my  young  fellows  will 
soon  be  following  your  bad  example.  Now  then, 
pull  off  your  jacket  and  walk  up  and  down  be 
tween  this  line.  Let  those  you  have  wronged 
punish  you.  Don't  run.  Any  one  of  these  men 
will  lay  hold  of  you  before  you  have  gone  ten 
steps.  Pull  your  jacket  off  ;  I  am  in  earnest." 

"  Massa,  do  lick  me  yourself !  Let  Uncle 
Scipio  t'rash  me  ;  but  don't  let  dem  niggars  hit 
me." 

"  No.  It's  from  them"  you  have  stolen.  Pull 
your  jacket  off.  If  this  does  no  good,  then  I 
must  sell  you." 

The  march  began  between  bristling  switches, 
Hetty's  birch  whistling  to  the  tune  of  a  frying 
fowl,  the  bones  of  which  had  been  found  under 
the  culprit's  bed. 

As  father  turned  to  go,  he  said,  "  Don't  let  me 
sound  another  bugle  call  for  undress  parade." 

"  Massa,  you'll  not  blow  no  bugle  for  me  ag'in, 
caise  I  is  done  made  up  my  mind  fer  turn  ober 
dat  new  leaf,  an'  I  is  goin*  ter  chu'ch,  sah." 

"  All  right ;  that's  the  way  to  talk  !  Do  your 
work  and  stay  at  home,  leaving  other  folks' 
chickens  and  eggs  alone,  and  you'll  be  treated 
kindly." 

In  giving  his  usual  report  some  weeks  after, 
Frank  said  : 


72  Lyddy:  A  Tale  of 

"  Massa,  de  Speret  is  touch  Kiah  wid  de  p'int 
of  he  wing.  De  odder  night  de  bell  hadn't  done 
clappin*  when  dat  runaway  nigger  walk  in  de 
sacred  edifice,  an'  ter-day  at  Pleasant  Grove  chu'ch 
Parson  Lee  put  Kiah  under  de  creek  water, — 
some  folks  say  two  inches  deeper  dan  odders. 
He  spit  de  water  out  he  mouth,  shoutin',  Bless 
de  Lord,  my  sin  is  washed  away  !  Bless  de  Lord 
an'  my  good  massa.'  Parson  Lee  say  de  word  dat 
dem  what  turn  dey  back  on  sin  trustin'  de  Lord, 
is  neber  gwine  ter  be  disapp'inted.  Last  week, 
when  dem  boys  laugh  at  Kiah,  askin'  if  he  ain't 
tired  sleepin'  in  a  house,  an'  was  fowl-meat  sweet, 
I  speaks  a  kind  word  :  '  Brudder,  don't  mind  what 
dem  rampant  sinners  say,  hold  your  mind  'umble- 
like,  pray  de  Lord,  an'  he'll  keep  you  in  de 
narrow  path.  I's  hear  dat  de  debil  tempted  de 
Lord  heself ;  but  he  plant  he  foot  on  de  rock,  an' 
no  wind  Satan  could  blow  could  move  him  from 
de  firm  foundation.  Ain't  dat  so,  massa?" 

"  Yes.  The  Bible  says  if  we  serve  the  Lord 
with  an  honest  heart,  He  will  not  forsake  even 
the  vilest  sinner.  The  prodigal  son,  you  know, 
was  met  by  his  father,  who  killed  for  him  the 
fatted  calf,  although  he  had  spent  all  his  money 
in  riotous  living.  Frank,  I  have  noticed  you 
preach  too  much  about  hell-fire.  Next  Sunday 
take  for  your  text,  Love — '  God  is  love.'  Come 


The  Old  South.  73 

on  Saturday  afternoon,  and  one  of  your  young 
missies  will  read  what  the  Bible  says  about 
Love." 

"  T'ank  you,  massa,  fer  de  good  cheer.  It's 
like  de  oil  flowin'  ober  Aaron's  beard,  a  reachin' 
ter  de  hem  of  he  coat.  Sometimes  I  wishes  I 
could  spell.  Mars  Flem'  is  teach  me  c-a-t  cat,  r-a-t 
rat,  but  my  head  gits  suffused.  I  says,  'Frank, 
you's  got  a  good  memery,  'pend  on  dat.'  Bro' 
John's  studyin',  "but  after  he's  been  bowin'  ober 
de  book,  he  slams  de  speller  on  de  floor.  Boys,' 
says  he,  '  you  may  talk  'bout  readin'  an'  spellen, 
but  it's  de  hardest  day's  work  my  han's  is  sot  ter 
dis  long  time  ;  de  sweat  rolls  ;  hoein'  in  de  August 
sun  don't  bring  out  sech  suffusion.  Boys,  you 
may  hav'  de  fedder  an'  speller,  giv'  me  de  ax  an' 
hoe.'  " 

My  father  continued  :  "  There's  another  thing, 
Frank.  When  you  preach  of  love,  you  must 
show  it  in  your  life,  keeping  your  own  lamp 
trimmed  and  burning.  Sinners  may  often  be  led 
with  a  web  of  kindness,  when  they  couldn't  be 
driven  with  scourges.  Tell  your  people  of  green 
bay  trees,  and  of  the  cedars  of  Lebanon,  where 
Christ  as  a  Shepherd  tends  His  sheep.  Have 
you  never  seen  old  Sawney  lead  my  flocks  from 
one  pasture  to  another  with  a  handful  of  salt  ? 
I  wonder  if  you  really  love  to  preach? 


74  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

"  Masea,  it's  my  glorification  ter  preach  ;  ain't 
dere  a  word  what  says  scatter  de  seed  broadcast, 
fling  it  ober  de  great  congregation  ;  a  stray  bird 
may  pick  up  a  grain  or  two.  Some  takes  root  in 
shaller  groun',  an'  jes  as  you  is  'bout  ter  cut  down 
dat  yaller  blade,  de  spring  rains  comes,  dat  corn 
pops  up,  an'  fore  you  knows  it  dere  is  de  shock  ; 
den  de  ripe  corn  in  de  ear.  It's  so  wid  dat  run 
away  nigger :  he  seed  de  love  in  your  eye  when 
you  tell  Uncle  Scipio  ter  give  him  meat,  peas, 
potatoes,  an'  meal,  aldo  not  a  lick  of  work  had  he 
done.  You  showed  him  de  handful  of  salt, — an' 
den  between  dose  line  of  switches  you  cast  a  net 
round  'bout  de  camp  of  Israel ;  caise  dat  bery 
night  he  come  ter  de  Gospel  house  o'  prayer. 
From  dat  time  we  giv'  Kiah  de  right  hand  o' 
fellowship,  an'  neber  ceased  ter  pray  dat  he  would 
git  into  de  ark  of  safety.  Las'  Sunday  when  I 
ask  all  penitents  ter  come  forward,  he  walk  plumb 
ter  de  front  of  de  pulpit  an'  drop  on  he  knees. 
A  hallaluyah  rise  in  de  air.  De  angel  Gabriel 
must  a  heard  de  shouts  of  rej'icin.'  I  had  been 
holdin'  forth  a  solid  hour.  Seein'  me  dry  in  de 
mouth,  de  chu'ch  sisterens  sing  out,  '  Pull  fer  de 
shore,  brudders,  pull.'  Folks  don't  count  much 
on  'omens  in  chu'ch,  caise  de  Bible  says  it's  not 
fer  'omens  to  speak  aloud  in  de  house  of  God  ; 
but  I  notices  dey  is  alway  ten  in  de  seats  ter  eb'ry 


The  Old  South.  75 

one  man,  an'  dey  don't  snore  like  de  mens  ;  nod- 
din'  deir  head  in  real  'omen  style.  No  voice  sings 
so  clear,  '  Heaven  bells  a-ringin',  my  soul  engage.' 
De  menfolks  waits  outside  de  dooe  a  finishin' 
dere  pipe.  Bro'  Jack,  who  is  my  right-hand  staff, 
says  '  Fellows,  go  in,  you'll  lose  de  p'int  of  de 
'course.' 

"  My  speret  gits  low  when  dey  comes  in  late. 
Satan  whispers,  '  Set  down,  Frank,  dey  is  los'  de 
early  dew  ;  it's  no  use  ter  preach  any  longer.'  " 

"  Surely  you  don't  give  up  so  easily  ?  Cast 
your  bread  upon  the  waters !  Perhaps,  after 
many  days,  it  may  return  to  you,  and  be  sweeter 
than  the  honeycomb.'  " 

"  Dat's  so,  massa.  I's  goin'  ter  try  de  new  gos 
pel  you  tell  me  'bout.  I'll  fling  de  flag  o'  love 
ober  my  congregation  an'  see  how  many  will  'list 
under  de  banner." 

"  Tell  your  people  also,  Frank,  how  '  God  so 
loved  the  world  that  He  gave  His  only  begotten 
Son  to  die  for  their  salvation.'  " 

"  It's  so,  massa.  Folks  don't  like  ter  hear  'bout 
fire  an'  parched  tongues  ;  dey  likes  a  easier  road, 
what  don't  'quire  hard  rowin'.  It  ware  so  wid 
Kiah.  Bro'  Jack  an'  me  used  ter  warn  him  dat 
he  was  standin'  on  de  walls  of  Jericho.  When 
de  t'ird  blast  blow,  look  out,  brudder,  dat  you 
ain't  civered  with  brick  an'  mortar.  But  Kiah 


y6  Lyddy:  A  Tale  of 

give  answer :  '  I  ain't  on  no  wall,  an'  Fs  neber  see 
a  fence  yit  but  if  I's  a  mind  ter  I  kin  climb  ober. 
I  ain't  comin'  in  chu'ch  ter  hear  'bout  hell-fire. 
My  back  burn  'nough  down  in  Floridy.' 

"  When  we  fling  him  dis  word,  '  Come  ter  me 
in  de  ark  of  safety,  come,  if  you's  tired,  I'll  give 
you  rest,  caise  I  de  Lord  is  done  all  de  work,'  den 
he  sing  out,  '  Here,  Lord,  is  me.' " 

"  Frank,  it  was  a  kind  word  that  won  him  at 
last.  And  so,  in  the  same  way,  I  try  to  make  my 
people  love  me.  We  want  no  Uncle  Toms, 
chained  and  bleeding,  on  Green  Forest.  I  would 
pull  down  every  fence,  turn  cattle  to  graze  in  the 
grain-fields,  rather  than  have  my  work  done  with 
Scipio's  "  cotton  planter  "  constantly  in  use.  In 
your  families  there  are  times  when  punishment 
becomes  a  duty  to  your  children.  Riseburg  has 
its  court-house  and  police  ;  public  offenders  are 
there  dealt  with  by  the  law.  On  my  plantation 
/must  fill  these  positions,  and  it  is  not  always 
easy  to  keep  peace  and  order.  You  remember 
how  my  good  and  faithful  coachman  came  near 
killing  the  mason  Marmaduke?  We  must  all 
exercise  patience,  keeping  our  hearts  right  be 
fore  God." 

"  Dat's  so,  massa.  No  work  is  worth  doin'  if 
de  soul  ain't  dere.  No  hallelujahs,  no  songs,  kin 
rise  ter  de  heav'nly  choir.  Don't  git  discouraged, 


The  Old  South.  77 

massa,  caise  when  de  big  book  is  open  I's  sure 
deir  will  be  a  word  of  rej'icin*  feryou  an'  missus; 
a  crown  fer  both  on  you.  You  is  done  de  bes' 
you  could  fer  we  niggars,  an'  it  will  be  writ  down 
fer  Christ's  sake,  too." 

"  Thank  you,  Frank.  When  the  Lord  sits  upon 
His  Throne,  judging  if  there  is  a  crown  for  you 
and  me,  we  will  cast  it  at  His  feet,  saying,  '  Not 
unto  us,  not  unto  us,  but  unto  Him  who  gave 
His  life  that  we  might  live.'  ' 

"  Dat  we  will,  massa,  dat  we  will !  Praise  de 
Lord  ;  glory,  hallelujah  !  " 


78  Lyddy :  A  Tale  of 


VI. 

A  Gold-Marked  Wedding  Ring. 

"  Pity's  akin  to  love." 

THOMAS  SOUTHERNE. 

NOW  it  was,  that  a  sudden  and  overwhelm 
ing  sorrow  overtook  Lydia  ;  her  husband 
and  three  other  men,  while  fishing,  were 
overtaken  by  a  furious  gale,  that  capsized  the 
boat.  Only  one  man  reached  shore.  He  told 
how  James  and  his  companions  went  down,  never 
more  to  rise. 

Lydia  moaned  and  wept,  her  mind  meanwhile 
overawed  by  the  dreadful  accident  that  made  her 
four  piccaninnies  orphans.  Her  "  w'ite  chilluns" 
soothed  and  petted  her,  but  salty  drops  ran  like 
rain  down  her  dusky  cheeks. 

Marlborough  drove  the  disconsolate  widow  and 
her  children  to  Pleasant  Grove  the  ensuing  Sun 
day,  where  the  funeral  services  were  held.  Dr. 
C.  C.  officiated,  and  inasmuch  as  he  taught  the 
doctrine  of  predestination,  it  was  of  course  the 


The  Old  South.  79 

foreordained  will  of  God  that  James  should  lie  in 
a  watery  grave. 

Lydia  wore  a  black  calico  dress,  with  a  snow- 
white  bandanna  deeply  bordered  with  black.  Her 
children  were  also  robed  in  emblems  of  mourn 
ing.  Our  "mommer"  was  a  great  favourite 
in  the  community,  therefore  the  church  was 
packed  with  people  from  our  own  and  adjoining 
plantations,  come  to  "  de  funeral  wid  no  corpse." 

More  than  one  old  woman  gave  her  head  a 
significant  shake,  saying,  "  Dat  wife  Flora,  ober 
at  Massa  Joe's,  had  better  keep  her  house  in 
order,  else  her  husband  will  quit  altogedder. 
Mens  is  such  queer  kind  o'  folks ;  dey  is  neber  con 
tent,  t'inking  somebody  else's  peach  is  got  a  finer 
bloom  dan  de  one  dey  has  in  hand." 

During  the  time  of  this  fresh  sorrow,  Marl- 
borough,  as  one  of  the  house-servants,  deemed  it 
his  duty  to  console  the  lonely  widow,  who  was 
breaking  her  heart  with  grief.  So,  his  evening 
duties  finished  and  a  hush  of  repose  spread  over 
the  estate,  he  sat  on  Lydia's  cabin-steps  or  be 
side  her  chimney-corner. 

"  Dry  your  tears,  Lyddy  ;  fer  aldo  the  billows 
is  gone  ober  James,  God's  will  must  be  done ; 
some  day  it  will  come  right.  I  know,  my  dear 
lady,  de  sun  is  set  red,  like  blood,  but  wait 
patient,  den  when  de  clouds  is  all  blowed  over, 


8o  Lyddy :  A  Tale  of 

de  mornin'  sky  will  shine,  clear  an'  bright,  an' 
you'll  forgit  de  howlin'  blast.  I's  goin'  ter  do 
all  I  kin  fer  you  an'  your  orphans.  Do  try  an' 
be  happy.  It  breaks  my  heart  ter  see  you  weepin' 
dose  salty  tears." 

Marlborough  felt  that  this  woman  needed  con 
solation  far  more  than  his  wife  needed  his  weekly 
visits.  Flora,  accordingly,  waited  in  vain  for  her 
husband,  knowing  well  the  cause  of  his  absence. 
But,  woman-like,  she  hid  the  thorn  that  pierced 
deeper  and  deeper  into  her  heart,  and  appeared 
to  take  little  heed  of  idle  gossip  in  the  cornfields  ; 
if  anything,  boasting  more  than  ever  of  her  fine 
wedding-ring,  "  havin'  a  gol*  mark  half  'cross  de 
inside." 

But  while  Marlborough  expended  his  best 
efforts  in  wiping  away  tears,  a  scene  happened  in 
his  wife's  house  that  influenced  his  whole  after-life. 

A  coloured  man  of  learning,  it  appears,  stopped 
at  Lament's  place  to  have  a  bite  of  supper  with 
Flora's  brother.  While  the  hoe-cake  was  brown 
ing  in  the  oven,  he  sat  before  the  fire,  showing  a 
gold  ring  he  was  to  put,  the  next  Saturday  night, 
on  "  de  marriage  finger  of  de  likeliest  gal  over  at 
Barnard's  landin'." 

"  Is  it  got  de  gol'  mark  inside,  like  mine  ?  "  and 
Flora  handed  over  hers  for  him  to  appreciate  its 
genuineness. 


The  Old  South.  81 

Slowly  he  spelt  "  L  y  d  i  a — Lydia." 

Dropping  skillet  and  corn-loaf,  amazed  and  in 
dignant,  Flora  snatched  her  ring  and  dashed  it 
into  the  fire.  With  angry  tones  she  screamed, 
"  Is  dat  de  gol'  mark  ?  Law  !  I'd  neber  a-wore  it 
wid  dat  no  count  niggar's  name  had  I  a-knowd. 
When  Flora  puts  on  a  ring  ag'in  it's  got  ter  have 
'  Flora '  writ  inside." 

Her  brother  hurriedly  took  the  golden  hoop 
from  the  bed  of  coals,  dropping  it  on  the  hearth 
to  cool. 

Pointing  disdainfully  to  it,  Flora  asked  :  "  Is  de 
name  burnt  out  ?  Sure  an'  fer  certain  I'll  neber 
tech  it  ag'in.  I'll  kick  it  so — behin'  dose  logs,  an' 
let  it  turn  ter  ashes.  Dere,  let  dat  hateful  man 
s'arch  fer  it ;  he'll  neber  find  it." 

Southern  plantations  were  independent  of  even 
post-bags  in  those  days,  having,  instead,  a  system 
of  their  own  by  which  news  flew, — not  always 
correct  in  detail,  I  confess. 

Marlborough  heard  early  Monday  morning,  then, 
that  his  youngest  child  Flora  had  fallen  into  the 
fire ;  so,  gaining  permission  to  leave  the  planta 
tion,  he  hurried  to  his  wife's  house.  But  he 
found  it  empty.  He  then  sought  the  sufferer 
in  the  day  nursery,  from  which  a  group  of 
"  blackies  "  ran  to  meet  him,  screaming,  "  Dey  is 

Flora's  pa  comin'." 
6 


82  Lyddy:  A  Tale  of 

Lifting  his  child  into  his  arms,  he  asked,  "  Is 
you  fall  in  de  fire,  my  little  gal?  " 

"  No,  sah,  ma  licks  me  if  I  goes  too  close  in  de 
chimney-corner." 

Leaving  her  soup  pot,  old  Granny  came  to  the 
door,  mopping  her  sweltering  face  with  the  corner 
of  her  apron. 

"  How  is  this,  Granny?  Word  came  ter  Green 
Forest  dat  my  little  Flora  had  fallen  in  de  fire ; 
here  she  is  as  spry  as  a  kitten  ;  massa  will  t'ink  I 
told  a  lie." 

"  Ha !  ha !  It's  dat  wife  of  yourn  foolin'  wid 
fire,  ridin'  a  high  horse  'bout  some  nonsense  writ 
in  de  ring  she  says  is  finer  dan  odder  folks. 
Granny  is  had  dis  gol'  ban'  on  her  finger  nigh 
on  ter  forty  years  an'  no  fuss  is  ris  over  it 
yit." 

Troubled  in  mind,  Marlborough  returned  to  his 
wife's  house,  wondering  who  could  have  spelt  out 
his  secret.  It  was  the  dinner  hour,  and  Flora 
arrived  from  the  field. 

With  sarcasm  in  her  voice,  she  accosted  her 
husband  :  "  Dat's  you,  a !  Well,  take  yourself 
back;  I's  made  up  my  mind  ter  have  nothin' 
more  ter  do  wid  you.  I  is  had  'nough  of  your 
nonsense.  Go  an'  court  dat  fool-niggar  Lyddy, 
fer  all  I  cares.  I  kin  marry  lots  of  odder  mens 
better  dan  you  is." 


The  Old  South.  83 

They  had  often  quarrelled  before,  so  Marlbor- 
ough  went  on  arranging  a  shelf,  not  deigning  to 
give  a  reason  for  his  untimely  visit.  He  noted, 
however,  that  there  was  no  ring  on  his  wife's 
finger. 

"You  is  a  'ceitful  fellow!  You's  brag  'bout 
dat  big  gol'  mark,  but  I  is  done  found  out  it's  dat 
nasty  mean  'oman  Lyddy's  name  inside  my  ring. 
Liars  is  ketched  up  wid  ;  dey  says  folks  kin  steal, 
but  de  bag'll  be  found  some  time.  I's  got  you 
cornered  now." 

"  If  dat  ring  don't  suit  you,  Flora,  give  it  ter  me 
an'  stop  your  jawin'." 

"  Hah  !  hah  !  I  ain't  got  your  old  brass.  I's 
pitch  it  in  de  fire  !  Here,  you  kin  s'arch  fer  it," 
— handing  him  a  hickory  stick  that  always  stood 
beside  the  chimney-corner — "  brass  don't  melt  so 
quick  as  gol'." 

He  turned  over  and  over  the  ash-heap,  but 
failed  to  find  the  golden  hoop.  Flora  muttered 
to  herself,  "  I  always  did  say  dat  'oman  Lyddy 
was  no  kind  o'  'count ;  she's  got  her  finger  in 
her  missus'  eye.  She's  a  mean,  nasty  hussy." 

Starting  to  his  feet,  her  husband  scowled,  say 
ing,  "Shut  your  mouth,  miss,  or  I'll  shut  it  fer 
you ; "  then  he  lifted  the  hickory  stick.  "  Let 
me  hear  you  call  dat  name  ag'in  an'  I'll  slap  your 
jaws.  We  nurse  is  as  pure  as  de  angels,  an'  so 


84  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

long  as  I's  name  Molbro  no  man  or  'oman   shall 
speak  ag'in  her." 

"  Slap  on !  "  she  enjoined,  tilting  her  cheek  to 
one  side.  "  I  has  my  t'oughts  all  de  same.  It 
'pears  to  me  your  pure  angel  grows  a  pow'ful 
black  pair  o'  wings." 

"  Take  care  dat  your  own  life  ain't  spotted. 
You  huntin'  fer  tips  on  odder  folks'  wings!  I  is 
sure  if  you'd  heard  sech  talk  'bout  freedom  an' 
house-maids  as  Lyddy  heard,  you  w'd  have  run 
away  from  your  master.  De  stain  of  sin  what 
befell  we  nurse  at  Green  Forest  is  all  wiped  out, 
an'  I  tell  you  ter-day  she's  de  best  'oman  dat  ever 
set  foot  on  God's  earth,  white  or  black." 

"  When  mens  lays  sech  store  by  'omens  dat 
don't  belong  ter  dem,  you  may  be  sure  deir  life  is 
deep-spotted." 

"  Mens  is  not  spected  ter  be  angels.  In  Miss 
Chim's  picture-books  it's  ladies  what  has  gos 
samer  wings  an'  is  angels  of  love.  Dose  dressed 
in  red,  like  debils,  is  mens,  jes  sech  rascals  as  dat 
free  niggar  what  tipped  we  nurse's  wings  wid 
black.  If  I  had  a  smashed  his  face  de  firs'  day, 
instead  of  de  las',  all  dis  trouble  wouldn't  be 
breakin'  my  heart." 

"  You  needn't  break  your  heart ;  your  red  an' 
yaller  debil  is  gone  to  Savernake ;  shark  fish  is 
feed  on  James.  Go,  marry  your  black  angel  wid 


The  Old  South.  85 

white-spotted  wings — you  has  my  consent.  I's 
made  up  my  mind  you  needn't  bother  ter  come 
here  ag'in." 

Little  Flora  sprang  to  her  father's  side  at  this 
exciting  moment.  "  Don't  slap  ma  ! — it  hurts  a 
pow'ful  lot." 

Marlborough,  who  had  a  tender  heart,  unwound 
his  little  girl's  arm,  and  stepped  outside  the  door. 
"  If  it  wa'n't  fer  dese  chilluns  of  mine,  I'd  neber 
darken  de  portal  of  dis  cabin  ag'in." 

On  his  homeward  way  bitterness  consumed  his 
mind.  He  returned,  however,  in  time  to  take  his 
master's  reins. 

"  I  hope  your  child  wasn't  badly  burned  ?  " 

"  T'ank  you,  massa,  my  little  Flora  didn't  fall 
in  de  fire." 

"  How  came  the  news,  then  ?  " 

"  Massa,  kin  I  tell  you  de  truth  ?  My  wife 
Flora  is  a-kickin'  up  her  heels  'bout  de  ring  I  give 
her  de  night  we  was  married  ;  she  say  it  ain't  gol', 
but  brass,  an'  she  pitch  it  in  de  fire." 

Has  she  just  discovered  that  her  ring  is  brass  ? 
It's  seven  years  since  you  were  married  !  " 

It's  not  de  quality  troublin',  it's  a  word  inside 
what's  mak'  dis  fuss  an'  tarrification." 

"  A  wedding-ring  should  have  a  word  of 
love." 

"  I   bought  it  de  time  you  was  in  Savernake 


86  Lyddy:  A  Tale  of 

talkin'  wid  dat  free  niggar  what  is  upset  all  my 
life." 

You  were  in  love  with  our  nurse,  Lydia,  then, 
were  you  not  ?  " 

"  I  was,  massa ;  an'  she  was  smilin'  an'  dancin'  wid 
me  ;  so  I  t'ought  ter  buy  de  ring.  De  store-keeper 
say  w'ite  folks  have  deir  gals'  name  inside,  an'  if 
I'd  pay  two  bits  he'd  write  it  so  soap  an'  water 
wouldn't  wash  it  out.  He  write  Lyddy.  All  was 
goin'  well  till  dat  free  niggar  set  foot  on  we  plan 
tation." — He  heaved  a  deep  sigh. — "  I's  married, 
massa,  but  dey  neber  will  be  dat  warmin'  toward 
Flora  like  what  burns  fer  Lyddy.  If  I  had  only 
stopped  ter  t'ink  before  dat  marriage-deed  was 
done  ober  at  Massa  Joe's  !  Nobody  know'd  'bout 
dat  name  in  my  ring.  Flora  t'ought  it  was  de 
gol'  mark,  till  last  Sunday  night  a  black  man  what 
could  read,  spell  out  Lyddy.  In  a  minute  Flora 
kicked  at  de  ring  sendin'  it  behin'  de  fire  an'  now 
she's  a-spreadin'  out  her  min',  callin'  we  nurse 
dreadful  names  ;  an'  she  don't  know  ter  dis  day 
'bout  de  gol'  mark  inside.  Massa,  ain't  we  nurse 
got  de  best  character  of  any  black  person  in  Sib- 
erty  County?" 

"  I  thought  you  had  a  good  wife,  Marlborough — 
your  clothing  and  that  of  your  children  show  the 
care  of  an  attentive  mother." 

"  Flora's  handy  wid  her  needle,  sah,  an'  kin 


The  Old  South.  87 

cook  a  pot  of  gumbo  equal  ter  Aunt  Affie,  but 
mendin*  clothes  an'  eaten  is  not  all  a  man  looks 
fer  when  he  goes  home.  Dere  is  no  intercourse 
o'  mind  dere  like  what  I  feels  fer  Lyddy.  Even 
de  Angel  Gabriel  heself  couldn't  shet  he  eyes  ter 
we  nurse's  beauty.  W'ite  folks  breaks  up  marriages 
when  dey  sells  niggars.  Massa,  won't  you  untie 
dat  knot  what  binds  me  ober  at  Massa  Joe  La 
ment's  ?  Den,  massa  kin  I  court  we  nurse  ?  " 

Turning  squarely  round,  eyeing  his  coachman, 
my  father  replied,  "  You  are  talking  rashly.  Re 
member,  you,  of  your  own  free  will,  asked  permis 
sion  to  marry  Flora ;  and  when  Dr.  C.  C.  said,  '  Will 
you  love  her  so  long  as  life  lasts/  you  replied  '  I 
will,  sir.'  Then  he  said,  '  Whom  God  has  joined 
together  let  no  man  put  asunder.'  You,  Marl- 
borough,  are  my  slave.  But  no  master  has  a  right 
to  break  the  marriage-vow.  I'm  sorry  to  hear 
you  are  not  happy,  but  you  must  abide  by  your 
choice  ;  had  you  not  been  hasty,  Juno  might  have 
called  you  Pa,  instead  of  James." 

Dat's  so,  massa.  My  pie  is  turned  ter  dough  ; 
my  harp's  a-hangin'  on  a  wilier  tree.  If  James 
had  come  back  ter  tell  'bout  dat  wat'ry  grave,  I 
might  hav'  kep'  my  heartache  down,  but  de  up- 
turnin'  of  dat  boat  is  set  Lyddy  free,  an'  dose 
billows  is  toss  up  an 'hit  me  plumb  on  my  breast 
ag'in.  You  reads  in  de  Bible  'bout  marriages 


88  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

made  in  heaven.  Is  dat  'cordin'  ter  de  law,  fer 
me  ter  buy  a  ring  fer  one  'oman  I  loves  better 
dan  myself,  den  somehow  it  got  put  on  Flora's 
finger  ?  " 

"  You  put  it  on  yourself  ;  it  was  your  own  do 
ing,  not  by  command  of  God  or  man.  There,  take 
this  money,  go  to  old  man  Dunham's,  in  Riseburg, 
and  buy  a  real  gold  ring  for  Flora.  Let  me  hear 
no  more. 

"  T'ank  you,  massa,  I'll  do  my  best  over  at  Mars 
Joe's  fer  please  you,  sah  ;  caise  nobody  ever  had 
a  better  master  dan  me  an'  Lyddy  is  got ;  if 
only  Flora  would  stop  talkin'  'bout  black  wings, 
when  we  nurse  is  as  pure  as  de  w'itest  w'ite 
folks." 

Flora  asked,  on  receiving  the  new  ring,  "  Has 
it  got  Flora  inside  ?  " 

"  No  !  I  is  had  'nough  of  writin'  names.  Niggars 
gits  mystified  apein'  w'ite  folks.  De  Lord  made 
deir  skin  different  an'  He  'lowed  dey  "better  hav' 
deir  own  ways  an'  consequences." 

"  Wid  black  faces  can't  dey  wear  gol'  ?  "  Is  dis 
brass  ?  " — fitting  it  on  her  marriage-finger. 

"  Don't  ask  me  dat  word  ;  I's  tired  hearin'  your 
talk.  I  is  done  my  best.  If  you  ain't  satisfied, 
hand  me  my  ring,  an*  I'll  quit  Lament's  place. 
Green  Forest  is  good  'nough  fer  me  or  any  black 
man." 


The  Old  South.  89 

"  All  right,  go  'long  wid  you  ;  but  you  won't 
hav'  your  chilluns,  I  kin  tell  you." 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  ;  my  master's  pockets  is  full 
o'  money." 

"  Jes  prezactly  like  you.  Caisc  you  has  a  good 
boss,  nobody  else  has.  Mars  Joe  is  a  grand  pro 
fessor,  but  inside  his  vest  front  a  heart  big  as  a 
meetin'  house  thumps.  Put  your  jews-harp  ober 
de  door-sill,  you'll  neber  play  it  fer  dat  boy  o'yourn 
nowhere  but  right  here.  By  de  bye,  tell  me  is 
your  black  angel  changed  de  mournin'  head  hand 
kerchief  fer  red  an'  yaller  ?  Is  she  lookin'  fer 
anodder  husband  ter  give  ter  shark  fish  ?  " 

"  Flora,  I  came  here  wid  a  peace-offerin',  an' 
like  a  decent  black  man  has  offered  it  ter  you  ; 
but  you  ain't  satisfied,  you  keeps  on  harpin'  'bout 
wings  tipped  wid  black.  I 'lows  most  everybody's 
wings,  no  matter  how  w'ite  dey  is,  has  black 
spots.  Is  you  certain  no  jet-black  fedders  is  in 
yourn  ?  Is  you  neber  sinned  ?  " 

No  answer.  Then  Marlborough  bade  his  wife 
good-bye.  "  I's  going  home  where  I's  content, 
aldo  my  heart  aches  a  pow'ful  lot." 

He,  whose  heart  was  more  like  lead  than  flesh, 
on  reaching  Green  Forest,  at  once  sought  the 
woman  uppermost  in  his  thoughts. 

Regardless  of  Toby's  stereotyped  form  of  ex 
pression,  he  grasped  her  black  hands. 


90  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

"  Lyddy,  I  is  fight  ag'in  my  own  mind ;  has 
beat  my  breast  till  my  soul  is  in  my  shoe-tips  ; 
but  it's  no  use ;  a  man's  a  man  an'  you  can't 
turn  him  to  a  lam'.  I  took  a  new  peace-offerin' 
ter  Flora,  but  it's  no  good  ;  she  keeps  jawin' 
'bout  you  havin'your  fingers  in  missus'  eyes.  Oh, 
go  wid  me,  Liddy,  an'  let  us  get  down  on  our 
knees  an'  beg  her  ter  'nul  dat  contrac'  ober  at 
Massa  Joe's  what  I  make  in  a  hurry.  Den,  Lyddy, 
will  you  be  mine?  You  knows  I  love  you  better 
dan  de  apple  of  my  eye,  I  has  neber  loved  any 
body  else.  Make  me  happy.  Be  my  wife  dis 
very  night." 

"  Bro'  Molbro," — and  her  voice  trembled  with 
emotion, — "  don't  talk  so  ter  me.  I  never  forgits 
how  my  life  is  stained  wid  sin  by  dat  yaller  free 
niggar ;  but  I  is  been  ter  de  Lord  fer  pardon,  an' 
Mars  C.  C.  says  Christ  kin'  wash  out  de  deepest 
stain  of  sin.  Would  you  blacken  my  name  ag'in  ? 
You  'bused  an'  almost  killed  Marmaduke  ;  now 
you  are  followin'  him  step  by  step."  Rising,  she 
motioned  him  away  :  "  Go,  go  !  De  Lord  helpin' 
me,  massa  an'  missus  will  neber  turn  me  out  of 
de  nurs'ry  ag'in  fer  bein'  unworthy  o'  their 
trust.  You  would  pollute  my  happy  married  life 
an'  make  my  sorrow  turn  ter  fresh  weepin'  ?  Go  ! 
Be  true  ter  Flora,  an'  if  she  keeps  on  talkin'  'bout 
my  black  wings,  tell  her  I  must  suffer  fer  my  own 


The  Old  South.  91 

sin.  I'm  not  ashame',  Bro'  Molbro,  dat  I  did 
love  you  once.  But  now  you  belongs  ter  Flora. 
In  heaven,  when  we  meet,  we  kin  walk  arm  in  arm, 
washed  from  sin,  an'  married  'fore  God." 


92  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 


VII. 
Robin  Decides  to  Marry. 

"The  Gods  are  vvonderous  kind." 

IN  one  of  the  cabins  for  convalescent  workers, 
Lucy  died  suddenly,  leaving  six  small  chil 
dren.  She  was  wife  to  Robin  and  sister  of 
our  seamstress,  Lily. 

Frank  tried  to  console  the  husband,  who  bit 
terly  rebelled  against  God  for  taking  his  wife, 
leaving  Flora  to  his  brother  Marlborough,  who 
took  little  trouble  to  visit  her. 

"I  suppose,  Bro'  Frank,"  snapped  the  discon 
solate  man,  "  dat's  de  flag  of  love  you  flings  over 
your  congregation  !  It's  de  banner  you  wants  us 
ter 'list  under!  When  you  kin  splain  why  I  is 
left  wid  a  lot  of  mudderless  chilluns,  'abreakin' 
my  heart  over  Lucy's  grave,  I'll  com'  ter  church, — 
not  before." 

"  I's  not  a  profit,  an'  can't  splain  all  de  Bible 
words,"  said  Frank,  "  but  don't  deride  dem  ;  chil 
luns  was  eat  up  once  caise  dey  derided  de  old 
profit." 


The  Old  South.  93 

*'  You  needn't  fret,  preacher,  I'll  not  be  snatched 
up  like  de  boy  John,  at  Bulltown  swamp." 

Winter  rains  had  pattered  over  new-made 
graves,  after  which  cotton  and  corn  sprouted 
into  life  under  the  influence  of  spring  days. 
Lucy's  mound,  then,  was  green  with  young  grass- 
blades. 

The  cloud  of  sorrow  overhanging  Robin's  home 
day  after  day  seemed  less  dark,  when  he  avowed 
his  intention  of  supplanting  the  dead  woman's 
place  with  another  wife  "  'fore  de  corn  was  in  de 
tassel."  With  an  eye  to  business,  he  ingratiated 
himself  with  the  women,  calling  them  "  ladies  " 
in  place  of  "hunna  people," — the  plantation  par 
lance  for  "you  people." 

"  Ladies,  stand  fer  your  rights,"  he  insisted  ; 
"  an*  most  of  all,  don'  take  a  gol'  ring  wid  a  big 
gol'  mark  inside.  Folks  says  dat  sister-in-law  of 
mine  ain't  a-consarnin'  herself  'bout  what's  goin' 
on  at  Green  Forest.  Jes  t'ink  a  man  wid  his 
wife  three  miles  away  an'  he  not  botherin'  ter  go 
dere.  If  it  was  ten  miles  I'd  go  ter  my  Lucy, 
an'  swim  a  creek  beside.  No  wonder  Flora 
kicked  her  weddin'  ring  in  de  fire." 

Leaning  upon  his  hoe-handle,  Toby,  professor 
of  love-making,  voiced  the  opinion  of  the  men, 
when  he  said  that  the  coachman  did  quite  right 
to  use  the  ring  he  had.  "  Folks  mustn't  be  hard  on 


94  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

Bro'  Molbro.  When  he  found  his  love-knot  had 
come  loose,  he  hadn't  de  heart  ter  pay  money 
fer  anodder  gol'  band.  Who  would  have  thought 
Liddy  would  fool  a  fellow  !  But  gals  will  be  gals ; 
dey  like  high  airs  an'  fine  dressin' ;  never  stoppin' 
ter  ask  how  big  a  rascal  is  inside  de  sto'-clothes. 
In  de  fust  place,  if  Bro'  Molbro  hadn't  been  so 
larned  in  his  own  mind,  an'  had  a-given  me  a  new 
pipe  wid  a  bundle  o'  tobacco,  fer  fee,  de  hon'rable 
Mrs.  Cummins  might  ter-day  a  bin  de  hon'rable 
Mrs.  Molbro  Janes;  but  mens  is  mens,  an'  I's 
concluse  one-half  of  dem  is  fools." 

In  the  meantime,  Robin  became  impressed  with 
the  need  of  offering  his  sister-in-law  a  bit  of 
Christian  advice.  His  fellow-workers  tried  to 
dissuade  him,  saying  : 

"  You'd  best  'tend  ter  your  own  business  at 
Green  Forest ;  ain't  dere  a  lot  of  likely  'omens 
here?  Folks  often  gits  dere  toes  burned  a  warm- 
in*  dem  at  some  odder  man's  fireplace." 

However,  he  asked  permission  to  visit  at  Pro 
fessor  Joe  Lament's.  And  his  master,  suspecting 
that  he  was  in  search  of  a  wife,  gave  him  a  pass 
covering  a  month's  time. 

No  negro  in  slavery  days  could  leave  his  owner's 
estate  without  a  written  order.  Found  without 
this  pass,  he  made  himself  liable  to  corporal  pun 
ishment  at  the  hand  of  the  country  patrol. 


The  Old  South.  95 

Her  brother-in-law's  unexpected  call  greatly 
pleased  Flora ;  for,  despite  her  outward  cheerful 
ness,  she  was  a  lonely  woman  and  hourly  longed 
to  forget  and  forgive  her  many  quarrels  with  her 
husband. 

She  pitf  on  her  table  the  best  her  cupboard  of 
fered  ;  and  spoke  tenderly  to  Robin  of  dead  Lucy. 
Once  or  twice  she  sarcastically  referred  to  a  pair 
of  spotted  wings  and  a  black  head  handkerchief 
worn  by  a  woman  at  Green  Forest.  But  her 
visitor  was  engrossed  with  the  hog  and  hominy  in 
his  tin  plate.  She  spread  a  pallet  for  the  night  in 
front  of  the  fire. 

At  break  of  day  she  rose  to  brew  a  cup 
of  coffee  for  Robin  before  he  returned  to 
work. 

"  Molbro  may  not  be  content  here,  my  lady," 
said  her  visitor,  "  but  I  is,  if  you'll  accept  o'  my 
call  ag'in  at  anodder  time." 

"  Come  when  de  speret  moves  you,"  she  an 
swered. 

It  frequently  did. 

Flora  finally  resolved  that  she  was  not  going 
to  waste  her  life  waiting  for  "  a  man  who  didn't 
care  a  pin  fer  her  or  her  chilluns.  I'll  marry 
ag'in,  but  not  on  Mars  Joe's  place,  ter  a  fellow 
always  'round  spittin'  tobacco  juice  'cross  de  fire, 
ober  pots  an'  fryin'  pans.  I  don't  want  ter  be 


96  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

cookin'  an'  waitin'  on  a  man  ev'ry  day  in  de 
week.  I  likes  my  freedom." 

Gossiping  tongues  in  the  cornfields  surmised  as 
to  "  which  girl  Robin  was  courtin'  over  at  Mars 
Joe's.  Could  his  brother's  wife  be  housin'  an' 
feedin'  him  ?  Or,  would  he  give  his  daid  Lucy's 
ring  ter  a  woman  not  clever  'nough  ter  keep  her 
lawful  husban'  ?  gittin'  up  a  quarrel  between  two 
brudders  not  'specially  fond  of  each  odder?" 

Women  ready  to  undertake  the  task  of  caring 
for  six  motherless  children,  roundly  abused  the 
little  ones'  father,  saying,  "  What  right  has  Robin 
ter  meddle  wid  anodder  fellow's  wife?  Wors' 
of  all,  his  brother's,  who  aldo  he  was  tied  fas'  ter 
one,  an'  loving  anodder,  would  have  ter  hold  ter 
his  barg'in  till  kingdom  come,  unless  a  t'under- 
bolt  should  'nihilate  Flora." 

And  Lily,  weary  of  mending  and  washing  for 
her  sister's  children,  determined  that  Robin 
should  marry  a  wife.  Not  on  any  other  planta 
tion,  however  ;  for,  then  the  new  wife  couldn't 
leave  her  master  to  assume  duties  in  her  hus 
band's  cabin. 

Exasperated  at  her  failure,  she  confronted  the 
coachman,  whose  negligence  seemed  to  prevent 
the  "  killing  of  a  fatted  calf  fer  a  wedden  feast 
fer  Robin,  who  was  now  makin'  a  fool  o'  himself. 
I's  goin'  ter  tell  missus  of  de  disgraceful  proceed- 


The  Old  South.  97 

in's,"  she  declared  one  morning  suddenly  accost 
ing  Marlborough.  "  Womens  gits  turned  out  o' 
de  nurs'ry  if  dey  crooks  deir  finger,  but  mens 
does  ten  times  worse  an'  yit  holds  tight  ter  car 
riage-lines,  wid  deir  head  high  in  air.  Here  you 
is  day  by  day  wearin'  yourself  out  fer  love  of 
Lyddy,  leavin'  your  wife  fer  Robin,  an'  he  a-let- 
tin'  dose  mudderless  chilluns  sleep  in  de  cabin 
alone  night  after  night." 

Marlborough  sprang  to  his  feet :  "  Is  dat  rascal 
got  a  pass  to  visit  my  wife  at  Mars  Joe's  ?  I 
t'ought  he  was  cou'tin'  Betty.  A  yallar  free  nig- 
gar  slipped  from  under  my  hand,  but  de  nex'man 
who  gits  in  my  path,  by  God,  I'll  cut  his  liver  out, 
if  he  is  my  own  brudder." 

After  grooming  his  master's  horses  and  closing 
the  stable  for  the  night,  he  hurried  to  the 
quarters. 

A  message,  however,  to  Robin  preceded  him  : 
"  Fer  the  sake  of  your  sister  Lily  keep  out  of  de 
coachman's  way,  or  you  may  git  your  throat 
cut." 

Robin,  it  seems,  did  not  sleep  at  the  cabin  with 
his  children,  nor  yet  at  Professor  Joe's. 

At  the  latter  place  an  exasperated  husband 
waited  for  him  till  day-dawn. 

A  kind  of  Tennessee  family  feud  now  stirred 
the  two  estates  into  a  turmoil  of  confusion.  In 
7 


98  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

the  spirit  of  a  hunter, — who  prizes  his  game  in  pro 
portion  to  the  difficulty  he  has  had  in  bagging  it, — 
Robin  held  to  the  place  he  had  won  at  his 
brother's  fireplace,  skilfully  eluding  Marlbor- 
ough. 

Scipio  brought  the  facts  before  Green  Forest's 
master.  "  It's  my  painful  duty,  sir,  ter  inform 
you  dat  your  coachman  is  pretty  nigh  finished  he 
brudder  ter-night.  Dey  has  been  quarr'lin',  an' 
news  reachin'  me  dat  dey  was  wrestlin',  I  'rested 
dem  an'  was  comin'  ter  you,  when  your  bes'  man 
flirt  heself  out  o'  my  grip,  an'  he  fly  at  Robin 
like  a  wild  cat.  In  one  minute  he  had  him  flat 
of  he  back  pommelin'  him  right  an'  left.  Bro' 
John  tried  to  help,  but  your  coachman  let  fly  his 
fist  knockin'  Bro'  John's  front  teeth  plumb  in 
half.  Molbro  was  jes  like  a  wild  beast.  From 
de  dark  he  sing  out,  '  Come  to  Lament's ;  I'll  wait 
fer  you  till  sun-up.' " 

The  master,  greatly  surprised  and  troubled, 
hastened  to  attend  to  Robin's  broken  leg.  He 
took  from  him  his  pass  to  visit  Professor  Joe's. 

The  following  morning  at  nine  o'clock  Scipio 
appeared  at  the  library  door  holding  Marlbor- 
ough's  coat  collar.  "  Here  he  is,  sah  !  Shall  I 
wait  your  orders?"  He  hoped  to  pull  off  the 
jacket  of  this  man  who  provoked  his  jealousy. 

"  You  may  go.     I  will  see  you  to-night." 


The  Old  South.  99 

Scraping  his  feet,  he  touched  his  forelock,  and 
turned,  while  under  his  breath  he  murmured,  "  It's 
so  in  dis  world,  some  folks  gets  de  upper  hand, 
even  wid  deir  master.  If  I  had  smashed  right 
an'  left  in  de  style  of  last  night,  foreman  as  I  is, 
I'd  got  my  punishment ;  dis  man,  wid  no  work  to 
do  but  drivin'  fine  horses,  is  a  holdin'  his  head 
high  in  air." 

As  the  library  door  closed,  Marlborough,  a 
truly  penitent  slave,  stepped  forward,  his  face 
bowed  to  his  breast,  his  hands  tightly  clasped. 

"  O  massa,"  he  implored,  "  do  scuse  me,  sah. 
I  know  I  is  done  wrong,  but  believe  me,  sah,  I 
couldn't  help  it.  My  life  is  all  upside  down. 
Massa,  won't  you  break  dat  marriage  ober  at  Massa 
Joe's?  I  has  been  back  an'  tried  ter  do  my  best 
fer  Flora,  but,  my  heart  ain't  dere." 

At  noon,  that  day,  a  stableman  espied  Marl- 
borough  secreted  behind  one  of  the  carriages, 
securing  a  shining  object  in  the  inner-lining  of  his 
vest.  He  distinctly  heard  him  say  :  "  I'll  use  this 
yet,  God  helpin'  me." 

From  that  time  it  was  an  open  secret  that  the 
coachman  carried  a  bright  dagger  inside  his  vest 
front.  Gossip  said,  too,  that  no  man  could  look 
so  unhappy  if  a  devil  wasn't  urging  him  to  an 
act  of  violence.  "  If  massa  knew  'bout  dat  knife 
he'd  have  him  stripped  ter  de  skin."  Yet  woe 


ioo  Lyddy :  A  Tale  of 

betide  the  one  telling  on  him  !  Even  Scipio 
kept  his  own  counsel. 

Marlborough  thereafter  calmly  awaited  a  favour 
able  time  to  use  his  supposed  weapon. 

"  The  gods  to  some  are  wondrous  kind."  Affie 
declared,  "  If  de  devil  was  in  Molbro's  heart,  de 
angels  was  feedin'  him.  Why,"  said  she,  "  he  don't 
eat  'nough  to  keep  a  sparrer.  When  he  come  fer 
a  bite,  Lyddy  an'  de  househol*  niggars  is  left  de 
table,  de  coffee  lost  de  flavour,  an'  de  biscuits 
hard  an  col'.  Massa  will  miss  him  if  he  gits  sick 
an'  dies.  An'  me !  I  hates  new  niggars ;  dey 
takes  sech  a  time  to  learn  decent  manners, 
neber  'memberin'  eben  to  bring  me  a  pail  o' 
water.'' 

Knowing  the  coachman's  fondness  for  his 
master's  children,  Lydia  did  her  best  to  cheer 
him,  begging  occasionally,  "  That  he'd  give  the 
baby  a  ride  on  his  shoulder." 

"  I  ain't  got  no  time,  I's  too  pestered.  I  wish 
I  was  daid,  anyhow." 

"  Bro'  Molbro,  do  don't  talk  like  dat.  Is  your 
heart  turned  ter  stone  ?  " 

"  Stone,  Lyddy  !  O  God !  If  it  was  a  brick 
bat  I'd  laugh  an'  be  happy,  dashin'  dis  away, — " 
he  tapped  his  waist-coat, — "  but  my  heart  is  sore 
an'  I  can't  forgit  de  time  when  I  was  de  happiest 
black  man  in  Siberty  County.  I'll  use  this  yet !  " 


The  Old  South.  101 

he  excitedly  cried,  '*  even  if  it's  over  an  open 
grave." 

Catching  hold  of  his  coat-sleeve,  Lydia  pleaded 
"  Will  you  murder  your  brother,  like  Cain  ?  Oh, 
Bro'  Molbro,  give  me  dat  dagger.  Is  this  we 
coachman  who  is  so  good  an'  kind !  Do,  Bro' 
Molbro,  cheer  up !  Don't  look  troubled.  I 
wouldn't  mind  all  de  talk  'bout  Flora  an'  Bro' 
Robin.  Flora  is  a  good  'oman,  only  you  has 
been  neglectin'  her ;  an'  it's  my  fault.  We  can 
neber  be  more  dan  friends  an'  fellow-servants  dis 
side  de  heav'nly  Jerusalem." 

Her  hand  still  rested  on  his  sleeve.  He  clasped 
it.  "  Lyddy,  my  Lyddy,  does  you  believe  what 
massa  reads  in  de  Bible 'bout  'God  is  love?' 
Oh!  if  He  is, — "  then  he  rushed  away,  his  sent 
ence  unfinished,  but  next  his  beating  heart,  was 
still  his  unused  burnished  treasure,  awaiting  a 
favourable  opportunity  for  use. 


IO2  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 


VIII. 
Satan's  Rope  Cut. 

"  A  poor  man  served  by  thee  shall  make  thee  rich  : 
A  sick  man  helped  by  thee  shall  make  thee  strong ; 
Thou  shall  be  served  thyself  by  every  sense 
Of  service  which  thou  renderest." 

MRS.  BROWNING. 

DURING  Robin's  convalescence  Lydia  was 
sent   frequently  to  his  cabin  with  dainty 
food  from  our   table.     While  there,  in  a 
spirit   of  charity,   she  tidied  his  room.     Eyeing 
her  wistfully,   he  begged  :  "  Kind  lady,  do  come 
ag'in !  de  light  of  your  eyes  makes  my  heart  leap 
wid  joy.     Tell  missus  eb'ry  bite  she  sends   by 
your  hand   makes  me  stronger,  Bumbye  I'll  be 
at  work  ag'in." 

Waiting  outside,  Lydia's  "white  children" 
watched  black  youngsters  tumble  over  each  other 
in  play.  Many  were  sadly  devoid  of  nether  gar 
ments  ;  for  boys  rarely  wore  their  first  pants  after 
the  pride  of  possession  had  waned.  Granny,  in 
deed,  had  often  occasion  to  unearth  these  breeches 


The  Old  South.  103 

from  piles  of  sand.  She  replaced  them  with  effec 
tive  blows  of  her  horny  hand,  saying,  "  Is 
dis  de  place  fer  your  pantaloons,  you  imp  of  a 
Satan?" 

Lily,  the  seamstress,  with  a  touch  of  skill,  now 
enlisted  her  fellow-worker  Nannie  into  a  scheme 
by  which  she  hoped  to  put  an  end  to  stolen  visits 
over  at  Professor  Joe's. 

Nannie  was  the  youngest  sister  of  Marlborough 
and  Robin,  and  but  recently  had  married  Timothy, 
foreman  on  Mr.  Ben  Cay's  place,  at  Barnard's 
landing.  Having  been  initiated  into  family  se 
crets,  he  declared,  as  his  opinion,  that  only  trouble 
would  follow  if  Lily  succeeded  ;  for  the  two 
brothers  had,  in  fact,  disagreed  from  boyhood  ; 
even  rending  in  twain  a  blanket  in  a  dispute 
as  to  who  was  wrapped  in  the  "  Lion's  share." 
Had  not  the  elder  brother's  marital  relations  also 
been  interfered  with  ? 

Undaunted,  however,  by  wild-cat  grip  or  fear  of 
a  shining  dagger,  Robin  eagerly  adopted  his  sister- 
in-law  Lily's  views.  Years  before  he  had  given 
Uncle  Toby  a  fat  'possum  !  Now  he  knew  his 
lesson  by  heart.  His  face  and  hands  washed  in 
hot  soapsuds,  round  his  neck  a  bright  red  scarf, — 
to  show  his  mourning  was  cast  aside, — he  donned 
his  "  Sunday-go-ter  meetin'  suit  "  and  beaver  hat ; 
with  a  limp  still  in  his  gait,  he  hobbled  toward 


104  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

a  cabin  built  on  the  edge  of  an  orange-grove, 
surrounding  his  master's  mansion. 

The  February  night  was  laden  with  the  perfume 
of  orange  blooms,  mingled  with  odours  from 
honeysuckle  and  jessamines,  their  vines  clambering 
over  the  cabin-door,  and  trailing  and  twining 
about  the  bell-rope  stretched  from  the  nursery  to 
the  nurse's  cabin. 

Brightly  shone  moon  and  stars,  enhancing  the 
beauty  of  the  scene  and  tinging  the  golden  fruit 
with  shining  lustre. 

At  Lydia's  cabin-door  Robin  stood  with  a 
tremor  in  his  heart,  fearing  some  one  else  might 
be  inside; — she  was  a  great  favourite  on  the  place. 

However,  fortune  favoured  him  ;  for  Lydia  sat  in 
front  of  a  blazing  pine-fire  all  alone,  mending  her 
children's  clothes.  In  an  adjoining  shed-room  her 
five  youngsters  lay  sleeping  and  snoring.  Neither 
cotton  nor  corn  had  yet  sprouted,  therefore  Robin 
found  Toby's  regulation-topics  soon  exhausted. 
But  he  spoke  of  the  blue  and  white  china  glis 
tening  on  the  shelves,  taking  minute  interest  in 
fashion-book  prints  tacked  about  the  board-walls, 
the  costumes  delineated  representing  hoopskirts 
covering  yards  of  carpet-space. 

"  Dear  Miss  Cummin's,"  said  he,  it's  a  sorry 
time  in  a  man's  cabin,  no  'oman  settin'  in  de 
'oman's  seat.  My  chilluns  is  so  full  of  play,  dey 


The  Old  South.  105 

won't  pick  a  basket  of  chips  ter  brown  de  loaf. 
I  see  your  boy  James  has  piled  up  your  box  wid 
fat  pine-knots." 

"  My  chilluns  don't  like  work  no  better  dan 
yours.  It's  we  coachman  cut  de  wood." 

"  Jes  like  dat  rascal !  I'll  be  bound  he  neber 
gits  a  stick  fer  de  chimney-corner  ober  at  Mars 
Joe's." 

"  Is  you  still  breakin'  massa's  law  ?  Ain't  you 
satisfied  wid  your  lame  leg  ter  stay  at  home? 
Don't  you  know  B'ro'  Molbro  carries  a  shinin' 
dagger  in  his  vest-front.  Folks  says  de  bridge 
ter  a  man's  wife's  house  is  narrow  ;  if  two  meets 
on  it,  blood  may  be  shed.  Take  my  advice,  an' 
stay  at  home  wid  your  chilluns." 

"  My  dear  an'  hon'rable  lady,"  cried  Robin, 
"  dat  is  jes  what  I  is  doin',  but  I  must  have  a 
mudder  fer  dem.  Seein'  you  setten  dere  in  a 
spotless  aprin  an'  black  an'  w'ite  turban,  de  look 
in  your  soft  hazel  eyes  is  'nough  ter  shake  de 
heart  of  a  lion,  let  'lone  a  man  weary  livin'  by 
heself.  I  has  brought  a  bundle  of  love  ter  lay  at 
your  feet,  if  you  will  'cept  of  my  cou'tship,  'an  I'll 
make  you  as  happy  as  ever  dat  brother  of  mine 
could." 

"  Bro'  Robin,  I's  not  askin'  fer  more  happiness, 
I  has  plenty  ter  eat  an'  wear,  my  house  is  comf- 
table.  Massa  an'  missus  treats  me  like  a  human, 


106  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

my  '  w'ite  chilluns  '  dotes  on  deir  mommer,  an' 
we  all  rides  ter  chu'ch  in  a  fine  carriage  wid  de 
best  pair  of  horses  in  Siberty  County,  not  ter 
speak  of  de  likeliest  coachman.  Bye-de-bye,  has 
you  an'  your  brother  made  friends  yit  ?  Night 
after  night  I  dreams  of  a  dagger  hangin'  over  my 
head,  an'  I  wakes  jes  as  Bro'  Molbro  pushes  it 
away,  so  it  won't  fall  on  me." 

"  Jes  like  dat  coachman !  he's  tied  to  one,  an* 
is  a  keepin'  watch  ober  another  'oman  les'  her 
heart  gits  touched  by  what  folks  calls  love  ;  cuttin' 
wood  here,  his  lawful  weddin'  wife  is  pickin'  chips 
ter  warm  his  chilluns'  toes." 

"  Judgin'  ag'in?  Don't  you  know  massa  is 
ordered  de  wood  cut,  caise  if  de  nuss'ry  bell  rings, 
no  matter  when,  I  must  go.  Missus  neber  calls 
les'  some  one  is  ill." 

"  Most  hon'red  lady,"  continued  Robin  "  by 
marryin'  me  you'll  shut  de  mouth  of  folks  what 
says  you  has  coaxed  Flora's  husband  ter  leave 
her." 

"  I  has  suffered  'nough  already  ;  don't  come  here 
ter  break  my  heart !  Don't  ask  me  ter  marry 
you.  I  is  happier  here  wid  my  fatherless  chilluns. 
Go  an'  court  one  of  de  'omen's  at  de  quarters. 
Dey  is  more  suitable  ter  your  understandin'  dan 
I  is." 

"  Miss  Cummin's,  a  man  can't  ask  any  'oman  ter 


The  Old  South.  107 

be  his  wife  ;  he  must  have  a  warmin'  ter  her  ;  no 
one  has  brought  my  heart  tcr  compose  since  my 
poor  Lucy  died  but  you,  hon'red  lady.  I'll  be 
better  ter  you  dan  ter  her,  caise  now  I  has  been 
in  de  'oman's  seat  ;  I  knows  de  terrification  dey 
has." 

Rocking  back  and  forth  in  her  rocker,  Lydia 
replied,  "  Don't  waste  your  time  cout'in'  me. 
Go  to  your  chillun's." 

The  cabin-door  closed  behind  her  visitor. 
Lydia's  trouble  found  audible  voice :  "  Why 
are  folks  talkin'  'bout  me  ?  What  has  I  done  ? 
Ain't  dere  mercy  in  heaven  ?  Must  my  sin 
follow  me  forever  ?  Is  de  sighs  an'  groans  of 
a  black  person  got  no  power  wid  de  Lord  ? 
Massa  reads  'bout  golden  vials  full  of  saints' 
tears.  I's  a  slave,  not  rich  'nough  ter  buy  gold." 
She  lifted  her  eyes  in  prayer  :  "  O  God,  won't 
you  'cept  a  glass-bottle  full  of  de  truest  drops 
dat  ever  fell  from  any  one's  eyes?  " 

She  slipped  from  the  chair  to  her  knees,  press 
ing  her  lips  to  the  leaves  of  an  old  Bible  that 
once  belonged  to  her  former  master,  Squire 
Janeston.  "  I  can't  read  de  Word  o'  God,  but, 
Jesus,  do  listen  to  my  cry !  Must  de  trumphet 
sound  ag'in,  Woe  !  woe!  woe!  Will  de  sun  turn 
black  an'  de  moon  set  like  blood  ?  de  burnin' 
mountain  ris'  before  me?  Lord,  thou  what 


io8  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

talked  to  Sara  in  de  tent  door,  speak !  tell  me 
what  ter  do.  My  heart  is  as  pure  as  de  w'itest 
w'ite  lady,  but  I  hates  ter  have  folks  talkin'  'bout 
my  havin"  spotted  black  wings." 

She  listened,  as  mysterious,  weird  words  seemed 
to  hiss  from  behind  the  blazing  logs,  "  Marry ! 
marry  !  marry  !  " 

The  regulation  ghostly  three  times  startled 
her ;  she  buried  her  face  within  the  leaves  of  her 
Bible ;  while  into  low  cadence  the  words  died, 
"  Marry  !  marry  !  marry  !  " 

Hugging  to  her  bosom  the  well-worn  Bible, 
she  groaned,  "  O,  dear  Jesus,  is  dat  what  you 
wants  me  ter  do  ?  " 

The  following  day  mother  noticed  a  strange 
look  of  trouble  on  her  nurse's  face.  But  not 
even  to  Marlborough  did  Lydia  tell  of  her 
heavenly  visitant. 

Robin,  the  ensuing  night,  shut  his  cabin  door, 
leaving  his  motherless  children  in  front  of  the  fire, 
huddled  on  the  floor,  sound  asleep.  He  picked 
his  way  to  Lydia's  chimney,  and  peered  through 
a  crevice  from  the  outside,  to  make  sure  that  no 
visitor  was  within. 

He  entered  and  earnestly  renewed  his  court 
ship  ;  but  Lydia  replied  ;  "  I  has  lost  faith  in  men's 
folks,  Bro'  Robin.  I  has  had  one  good  husband, 
but  it's  sech  men  what  gets  drownded.  No 


The  Old  South.  109 

'count  folks  lives  on  an'  on,  fussin'  'bout  trifles, 
like  de  quality  of  gol'  rings,  talkin'  of  wings 
tipped  wid  de  stain  of  sin.  I  knows  one  t'ing,  if 
it  wa'n't  fer  you  mens-folks'  talk,  we  'omens' 
plumes  would  be  w'ite  like  snow.  You  mens  is 
de  most  on  you  black  as  crows  wid  your  guilt. 
No  wonderment  is  made  ober  your  foul  fedders, 
but  jes  let  a  dove  show  a  dark  fedder  an*  howls 
an'  hisses  sounds  on  eb'ry  side.  If  you  crows 
would  stay  in  de  cornfield,  where  you  belongs 
certain  sure  doves  wouldn't  leave  deir  dove-cote 
ter  hunt  fer  you." 

Saturday  night  Flora  sat  singing  to  her  young 
baby,  wondering  if  Marlborough  would  spend 
Sunday  with  her.  She  had  heard  old  women 
comment  on  the  youngster's  strong  resemblance 
to  its  Uncle  Robin,  but,  happily,  she  was  once 
more  on  fairly  good  terms  with  her  lawful  hus 
band,  and  so  she  wisely  kept  her  tongue.  She 
listened  anxiously  for  well-known  footsteps. 

At  cock-crow  she  was  roused  from  her  fruitless 
wait.  Indeed,  he  who  should  have  been  by  her 
side  was  fulfilling  a  duty  he  felt  due  to  his  kind 
master.  For  weeks  Marlborough  had  suspected 
that  the  orange  trees  about  Lydia's  cabin  were 
being  robbed.  Accordingly,  he  secreted  himself 
in  readiness  to  spring  upon  the  thief. 

Three  taps  on  Lydia's  door  startled  him.     To 


no  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

a  negro  three  taps  means  a  visit  with  a  precon 
ceived  purpose. 

From  his  hiding-place  he  sprang,  and  the  next 
moment  he  was  on  the  ground  struggling  with  a 
man  in  his  firm  grip. 

"What  business  has  you  a  tappin' at  dis  dooe? 
Did  I  bring  wood  ter  warm  you,  you  rascal?  I'll 
cut  your  liver  out " — throwing  himself  over 
Robin,  who  screamed  lustily,  "  Sis  Liddy,  Sis 
Liddy,  come  quick,  a  dagger  is  cuttin'  my  throat." 
His  voice  grew  more  and  more  suppressed,  with 
gurgling  sounds. 

Lydia  rushed  to  the  rescue,  and  wound  her 
arms  about  Maryborough's  neck,  without  casting 
aside  the  stocking  in  which  her  hand  was  encased. 
Consequently,  the  needle  buried  itself  in  his  neck 
and  broke  uncomfortably  near  his  jugular  vein. 
"  Bro'  Molbro ! "  she  cried,  "  What  are  you  doin', 
stabbin'  your  own  brother  at  my  very  dooe!  O 
God,  ain't  I  suffered  'nough  yit?" 

Pointing  to  the  negro  quarters,  Marlborough 
said,  "  Go,  sah,  where  you  belong !  You  is  not 
worthy  ter  sweep  de  trash  from  dese  steps,  let 
'lone  goin'  inside  ter  set  beside  de  fire-place. 
Let  me  catch  you  here  ag'in  an'  I'll  pound  your 
bones  ter  powder." 

Resistance  was  worse  than  vain ;  so,  with 
crushed  beaver  and  soiled  Sunday-clothes,  Robin, 


The  Old  South.  in 

the  lover,  walked  away,  not  one  whit  undecided, 
however,  as  to  his  future  efforts. 

In  the  cabin  Lydia  essayed  to  withdraw  the 
needle-point.  But  she  was  caught  in  a  warm 
embrace,  which  instinctively  she  returned,  their 
lips  meeting  in  an  ecstasy  of  feeling:  "My 
Lyddy,  my  heart's  love,  before  heaven  you  are 
my  wife ;  come,  be  mine !  God  knows  how  I 
loves  you  !  '' 

She  tore  herself  away,  then  leaned  upon  the 
mantel-shelf,  moaning,  "  It's  all  my  fault,  it's  a 
curse  folio  win'  me.  Why  did  I  listen  ter  that 
rascal  wid  his  talk  'bout  silk  frocks  an'  freedom  ? 
Bro'  Molbro,  we  might  have  married,  but  it's  too 
late  now.  Dey  calls  me  a  slave.  Yes,  I  am  a 
slave,  but  my  slave-wings  must  be  kept  pure  an' 
w'ite." 

"  Dey  is  pure  an  w'ite,  my  Lyddy.  Jacob 
waited  fer  Rachel  seven  years ;  my  seven  is 
turned  de  eight,  an'  you  ain't  yit  my  wife.  Massa 
hates  a  lie.  Don't  I  lie  eb'ry  time  I  goes  ter  Mars 
Joe's  ?  Come,  Lyddy,  let's  go  ter  massa  and 
missus,  an'  once  more  beg  dem  ter  untie  de  knot 
what's  chained  meter  Flora.  Den  you'll  be  my 
wife,  won't  you  ?  I  can't  live  dis  way  ;  my  heart 
will  break." 

"  It's  too  late  ;  it's  too  late,  Bro'  Molbro,  it's 
me  done  dis  deed  o'  murder.  Give  me  de  dagger; 


H2  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

let  me  drag  from  my  own  heart  what  God  he- 
self  put  dere.  I  ain't  ashamed  ter  tell  you  how 
much  I  used  ter  love  you.  But  it's  too  late ! 
Go,  go  !  Be  good  ter  Flora,  an'  try  ter  forgit  all 
de  wrong  I  has  done  you." 

"  If  I  could  forgit,  Liddy ;  but  I  can't.  I  has 
neber  wanted  freedom,  yet  now  I  must  be  free 
ter  make  money  ter  buy  my  Lyddy.  If  dis  ain't 
possible,  will  you  run  away  wid  me  ?  Folks  say 
dere  is  an  underground  way,  an'  at  de  odder  end 
w'ite  ladies  feeds  us  wid  deir  own  hands.  Come, 
will  you  go  dis  very  night  ?  Look,  it's  not  too 
late,  we  could  be  safe  before  daybreak.  Our  mar 
riage  was  'ranged  in  heaven.  Let's  have  it  set 
tled  on  earth.  Come,  git  ready,  Lyddy,  we  will 
start  at  once." 

"  Don't  talk  so  fas',  Bro'  Molbro.  No  matter 
where  you  goes,  Flora  is  your  wife ;  f er  Mars 
C.  C.  said,  'before  God  I  pronounces  you  man 
an'  wife.' ' 

"  If  w'ite  folks  breaks  up  niggar  marriages,  that 
don't  count.  Why  can't  we  do  de  same  ?  "  pro 
tested  Marlborough. 

"  Has  you  t'ought  'bout  leavin'  your  master 
an'  my  w'ite  chilluns?  Dey  would  weep  deir 
eyes  out  fer  deir  mommer.  I'd  be  mis'rable  'way 
from  dem,  an'  Mars  C.  C.  would  blot  my  name 
from  de  chu'ch  books." 


The  Old  South.  113 

"  Lyddy,  I  loves  my  massa  an'  all  his  fam'ly, 
but  as  I  can't  marry  you  here,  we  must  go  where 
I  can.  Be  quick,  tie  up  your  clothes  in  a  bundle  ; 
come,  I'll  help." 

Three  times  the  bell  over  his  head  clanged,  like 
a  note  from  heaven.  Quick  as  a  flash  Lydia 
darted  out  the  door,  knowing  that  some  one  she 
loved  was  ill. 

Marlborough  then  seated  himself  in  the  rocking 
chair,  and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands  ;  he 
was  quivering  with  excitement.  Seemingly  ob 
livious  to  his  companion's  absence, he  murmured: 
"  It's  so,  Lyddy,  I  couldn't  live  'way  from  we 
good  w'ite  folks.  Satan  has  his  rope  'round  my 
neck." 

Snatching  Lydia's  Bible  from  the  mantel-shelf, 
he  pressed  his  lips  upon  its  cover :  "  I'll  cut  dat 
debil's  cord,  an'  wait.  Caise  massa  says,  '  God  is 
love.'  " 

On  his  knees  he  sank,  with  his  black  hands 
folded  across  his  breast,  as  if  to  retain  his  treasure 
more  securely. 

The  ensuing  night  the  usual  hush  and  quiet 
crept  over  the  plantation.  Now  and  then  a  sen 
tinel  gander  gave  a  signal  to  let  his  flock  know 
that  he  was  on  duty.  The  air  was  cold,  and 
Lydia  drew  her  chair  close  beside  the  dying 

embers.     She  nodded,  from  loss  of  sleep. 
8 


114  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

"  Marry  !  Marry  !  Marry  !  "  again  whizzed 
through  the  chimney-jamb,  startling  her  from  her 
dreams. 

Though  clever  herself  in  invoking  aid  from 
supernatural  spirits  when  needed  for  her  "w'ite 
chilluns,"  she,  nevertheless,  was  now  under  the 
domination  of  an  angel  voice.  So,  fearing  to  sit 
in  the  presence  of  an  heavenly  visitant,  she  knelt, 
reaching  for  her  Bible,  her  safeguard  in  time  of 
anxiety.  "  O  Lord,  tell  me  de  name?  Is  it  Bro' 
Molbro  ?  Show  me  dy  will,  O  God  !  Speak  so  I 
kin  hear." 

The  feeble  flame  flared,  as  if  blown  upon : 
"  Ro-ro-bin  !  Ro-ro-bin  !  Ro-ro-bin  !  " 

"  Great  God  !  Hast  thou  oberlooked  de  sharp 
dagger  what  Bro'  Molbro  carries  ?  Must  I  marry 
Bro'  Robin  ?  " 

Lydia  was  roused  at  early  dawn  from  her 
troubled  sleep  by  the  sound  of  partridges  in  the 
fields  beyond  her  cabin.  One  after  another  they 
whistled  to  their  mates  "  Ro-ro-bin  !  Ro-ro-bin  ! 
Ro-ro-bin  ! " 

Wiping  her  face  with  a  wet  rag,  she  hurried  to 
the  nursery,  to  get  out  of  reach  of  three  words, 
that  seemed  urging  her  on  to  her  doom. 

Before  her  arrival,  however,  Caroline,  Marl- 
borough's  mother,  had  snugly  ensconced  herself 
in  front  of  a  blazing  fire,  kindled  for  the  children 


The  Old  South.  115 

to  dress  by.  Contented,  she  was  testing  roasted 
yams,  that  had  been  covered  the  preceding  night 
beneath  red-hot  oak  ashes,  to  be  ready  for  hungry 
young  mouths. 

Our  assistant  nurse,  nick-named  Old  Soul,  was 
a  peaceable  creature,  not  troubling  herself,  it  ap 
peared,  even  about  the  broil  between  her  two 
sons. 

Eccentric  in  many  ways,  she  never  wore  shoes, 
and  clicked  her  bare  heels  together  in  walking. 
Her  manner  of  rousing  us  from  sleep  was  unheard 
of,  and  mother  would  have  shuddered  to  have 
seen  her  in  early  morning  lift  our  bed-covers  at 
the  foot  of  the  bed,  grasp  our  pink  feet,  then,  one 
after  another,  pull  the  toes  until  they  gave  a  click, 
as  if  the  muscles  had  stretched  beyond  their  limit. 
Were  this  not  sufficient  to  send  us  kicking  and 
howling  out  of  bed,  she  treated  our  fingers  to  the 
same. 

Old  Soul  gloried  in  listening  to  fairy  tales  con 
cocted  by  Lydia.  Lydia's  most  startling  expe 
rience,  however,  was  not  told  until  years  after  its 
occurrence. 

Her  narrations  of  Bro'  Wolf  and  Bro'  Rabbit, 
we  never  forgot.  And  I  vividly  recall  the  excite 
ment  of  listening  to  her  tales.  With  fiery  flash 
ing  insects  in  our  handkerchiefs  we  watched,  and 
waited,  hoping  and  expecting  they  would  mo> 


n6  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

mentarily  expand  into  live  and  radiant  fairies, 
ready  to  gratify  our  every  wish.  This,  we  were 
assured  by  our  nurse,  would  be  the  case  if  we 
sat  "  as  still  as  mice." 

The  beauty  of  our  lawns  of  the  summer  even 
ings  was  of  incomparable  charm,  innumerable 
fireflies,  or  "lightning-bugs,"  as  vulgarly  termed, 
flitting  fantastically  from  side  to  side. 


The  Old  South.  117 


IX. 
A  Spanish  Trading^Port. 

"  And  more  true  joy  Marcellus  exiled  feels 
Than  Caesar  with  a  senate  at  his  heels." 

POPE. 

AS  history  records,  St.  Augustine,  Florida, 
was  at  one  time  a  busy  Spanish  trading- 
port,  as  well  as  in  Colonial  days  a  land 
ing-place  for  native  Africans.  Later,  it  also  be 
came  a  famous  negro  mart.  Even  now  the  remains 
of  a  fort  continue  to  attract  visitors  that  journey 
south,  to  winter,  under  tropical  suns,  and  among 
orange-groves  with  perfume-laden  sea-air.  But 
of  the  many  visitors  attracted  there  yearly,  few, 
I  fancy,  give  a  thought  to  the  aborigines  that 
were  driven  from  their  land  of  flowers  to  ice 
bound  regions.  Mrs.  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe — 
whose  book,  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  thrilled  the 
universe,  I  confess — had  her  winter  home  in  this 
part  of  the  south,  where  both  good  and  bad 
masters  brought  their  slaves  to  be  sold. 

About  ten  years  ago,  fire,  happily,  destroyed 


n8  Lyddy:  A  Tale  of 

the  old  shed  and  block  (remnants  of  barbarity), 
where  thousands  of  human  beings  were  sold  like 
cattle  or  sheep.  Here,  too,  were  kept  a  pack  of 
blood-hounds,  ready  to  scent  fugitive  slaves,  who 
dared  attempt  to  escape  from  a  cruel  owner. 
/  Strangely  enough,  the  auctioneer  was  always  a 
northern  man. 

Caesar,  Machiah,  and  hundreds  of  other  slaves 
were  bought  here  and  transferred  to  Green  Forest. 
Marlborough's  master,  on  one  occasion,  occupied 
himself  before  the  auction  by  noting  the  good 
points  of  those  to  be  sold.  A  likely  lad,  indus 
triously  whittling  a  white-oak  strip,  attracted  him. 

Accosting  him,  he  said,  "  My  boy,  what  are  you 
making  ?  " 

"  A  bow,  ah  ! " 

"  A  bow  !  Surely,  at  your  age,  you  don't  play 
with  bow  and  arrows,  do  you  ?  " 

"  I  kin  stretch  a  bow  as  good  as  de  best  of  dem 
— kin  bring  down  a  turkey  or  steer  when  we 
comes  'cross  one." 

"  Is  that  right  ?  would  you  kill  a  steer  that  did 
not  belong  to  you." 

"  You  see,  boss,"  he  replied,  "  Pow-wow  swears 
de  cows  in  de  oak-lands  an'  de  boars  in  de  cane- 
break  ain't  nobody's  ;  so,  by  occasion,  we  kills  a 
fat  fellow." 

"  Who  is  Pow-wow  ?  " 


The  Old  South.  119 

"  Dat  Injin  yonder,"  pointing  to  a  Cherokee 
warrior,  partly  robed  and  partly  plumed,  who  was 
leaning  against  a  post  of  the  auction-shed,  look 
ing  on  merely  as  a  matter  of  curiosity ;  or,  per 
haps,  hoping  to  sell  Indian  wares. 

"  What's  your  name,  my  boy  ?  " 

"  Abel,  sah." 

"  Where  is  your  father  ?  " 

"  Never  had  none." 

''  There  you  are  mistaken,  Abel ;  everybody 
must  have  had  a  father." 

"  I  reckon  Pow-wow  is  my  pa." 

"  No,  indeed  ;  you  are  too  black,  and  your  hair 
too  kinky  to  be  the  son  of  a  red  Indian.  Is  that 
your  mother  over  there  nursing  her  baby?" 

"  I  don't  'member  my  mudder,  'cept  dat  she 
lick  me  one  night." 

"  How  long  is  it  since  you've  seen  her  ?  " 

"  Nigh  on  ter  eighty  moons. 

"  Impossible !  You  are  not  more  than  sixteen 
years  old  now." 

"  Boss  says  I's  twenty." 

"Who  is  the  boss?" 

"  Dat  man  wid  de  brass  buttons ;  you'll  see 
him  mount  de  block  presently." 

"  So,  you  have  been  sold  here  before?  " 

"  No,  sah  !  I  come  one  day  wid  Pow-wow,  an' 
de  boss  tell  him  to  bring  me  ter-day.  He  say 


i2o  Lyddy:  A  Tale  of 

some  buckra'  man  would  buy  me.  Massa,  won't 
you  bid  fer  me  ?  I  likes  you  ;  caise  you  talks 
good." 

"  Then  you  have  been  living  with  Pow-wow  ? 
Are  you  just  from  the  wigwam? 

"  It's  three  moons  since  I  fus  quit  de  Injins. 
Old  man  Thorne  pick  up  a  stick  ter  make  me  go 
an'  hoe  he  turnip  patch  ;  but  I  tell  him  last  week 
I  wouldn't  stay  dere  ;  I  likes  Floridy  de  best. 
We  has  gumbo  an'  oranges  ;  turkey  is  plenty, 
too." 

"  Where  is  Thorne  ?  " 

"  You  see  dat  man  standin'  'longside  a  critter 
wid  a  calico  colt  ?  Dat's  he." 

A  tall  scrawny  pine-land  cracker  busily  adjusted 
the  girth  of  his  saddle.  He  covertly  watched  my 
father  questioning  Abel,  wondering,  doubtless, 
what  they  could  find  to  talk  about. 

"  Tell  me  your  mother's  name,  Abel." 

"  Miss  call  um  cook." 

"  You  had  a  missis,  then !  What  was  her 
name  ?  Was  it  Thome's  wife  ?  " 

"  She  ain't  no  missis  ;  she  's  poor  cracker.  She 
ain't  no  better  dan  me.  I  sits  'longside  Becky 
at  table ;  she's  de  oldest  gal  of  de  fam'ly,  an'  kin 
skin  a  sheep  as  good  as  de  Injins.  She  beats  her 
baby  jes  like  it  was  stone." 

"  How  did  you  happen  to  leave  your  mother 


The  Old  South.  121 

when  so  young?  Can't  you  recall  her  name? 
Did  your  master  sell  you?" 

"  I  'members  one  night  I  was  tired  sleepin',  so 
I  was  goin*  in  de  dark  ter  de  quiltin'  an'  some 
body  give  me  a  long  stick  o'  candy.  We  trotted 
on  horseback,  an'  when  I  wake  up  I  was  sleepin' 
in  de  bed  wid  lots  of  w'ite  chilluns.  I  didn't 
have  no  breeches,  so  dey  gib  me  one  of  de  w'ite 
boy's.  We  chilluns  play  in  de  log-house,  an' 
when  I  cry  ter  go  out,  de  old  w'ite  'oman  hoi' 
me.  She  say  it  ware  too  hot ;  I  better  stay  'long 
side  de  fire." 

"Did  you  live  there  long?"  asked  my  father, 
smiling  at  this  incoherent  speech. 

"  Fs  done  forgot,  sah.  We  ride  on  horseback 
ag'in,  an'  when  I  wake  up  Pow-wow  squaw  was 
feedin'  me  wid  gumbo  and  oranges." 

"  Have  you  been  ever  since  with  Pow-wow  and 
his  children  ?  " 

"  I's  all  de  chilluns  dey's  got." 

"  Why  did  Pow-wow  want  to  sell  you?" 

"  Dat  old  cracker  Thorne  tried  ter  fight  wid 
Pow-wow  'bout  me ;  den  Wunda  say  dey  better 
sell  me  an'  share  de  money." 

"  Is  Wunda  your  squaw-mother  ?  " 

"She's  good  to  me.  I  likes  her;  she  cooks 
fine  gumbo.  Massa,  does  you  have  any  gumbo 
turkey  ?  Becky's  husband  say  dis  mornin'  dat  if 


122  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

I  tell  folks  I's  been  libin  wid  de  Injins,  some  fine 
night  he'll  tie  me  ter  a  tree  head  down,  an'  he'll 
cut  out  my  tongue  an'  roast  it  in  de  fire.  I's 
'fraid  o'  fire.  Massa,  don't  tell  folks  what  I  tell 
you.  I's  gettin'  scared." 

"  You  are  safe,  Abel,  but  why  are  you  so  afraid 
of  fire?" 

"  I  fall  in  de  fire  once  an'  burn  my  arm  w'ite." 

"  You  did  !  I  must  see  that  scar  ;  I  won't  buy 
you  if  you  are  unable  to  work." 

Having  arranged  his  saddle,  Thorne  sneaked 
around  to  where  Abel  stood  behind  a  house  ;  he 
removed  his  jacket,  while  father  examined  the 
white  scar  on  his  left  arm. 

With  suspicious  eyes  Pow-wow  was  restless, 
his  feathers  waving  in  the  sea-breeze. 

Recourse  to  the  law,  in  order  to  stop  the  sale 
of  Abel,  would  have  required  time,  giving  Pow 
wow  another  opportunity  to  secrete  his  foster- 
son  in  the  dense  canebrakes  of  Florida.  Father 
deemed  it  important  to  take  the  boy  Abel  to 
Siberty  County  as  soon  as  possible. 

The  auctioneer,  therefore,  agreed  to  give  a 
deed  of  sale  at  once,  swearing  that  he  himself  had 
bought  the  boy  from  Phil  Hertz,  down  at  Tampa 
Bay. 

At  the  homestead,  when  Marlborough  reined 
in  his  horses,  it  was  dark.  "  Have  your  supper 


The  Old  South.  123 

with  the  boy  Abel,"  his  master  said,  and  be  at 
the  gate  by  eight  o'clock  with  fresh  horses.  I 
must  drive  to  Mr.  Winn's  plantation." 

We  gathered  about  father,  begging  he  would 
tell  us  how  many  Indian  squaws,  with  their  pap- 
pooses,  he  had  seen  in  Florida.  But  he  kissed 
us  good-night,  with  the  words,  "  Be  good  chil 
dren  ;  to-morrow  after  breakfast  you  shall  hear  a 
real  true  Indian  story." 

The  rumbling  of  carriage-wheels  aroused  Mr. 
Winn,  who  was  dozing  beside  his  library  fire. 
Opening  the  door  himself,  he  greeted  his  visitor : 

"  Good  evening,  neighbour.  Come  in  and  have 
a  cigar.  I've  just  opened  a  fresh  box  of  the  best 
Havanas." 

"  Thank  you,  not  now ;  I  am  in  a  hurry.  I 
hear  your  cook  is  very  ill." 

"  She  is,  faithful  old  soul ;  she  will  hardly  last 
another  twenty-four  hours.  I  was  with  her  a 
good  part  of  last  night.  But  she's  growing 
weaker,  day  and  night  calling  for  her  boy  John. 
Every  time  the  door  opens  she  imagines  it's  he." 

"  Let's  go  to  her  at  once.  Do  you  think  she'll 
recognise  me  ?  " 

"  I  can't  say.  An  hour  ago  her  mind  was  still 
wandering.  She  talked  incessantly  of  her  lost 
son,  eaten  by  a  big  black  bear.  You  know, 
friend  Janes,  I  have  a  feeling  that  that  fellow  was 


124  Lyddy:  A  Tale  of 

never  eaten.  I  am  inclined  to  join  in  the  super 
stition  that  has  taken  hold  of  the  negroes  in  the 
quarters,  that  John  will  some  day  come  back,  for 
his  mother  seems  clearly  to  see  him." 

Talking  earnestly,  the  two  planters  reached  the 
cabin.  Marlborough  and  Abel  followed  in  the 
rear. 

An  aged  granny  sat  in  the  room  nodding  by 
the  bed  of  a  dying  woman,  whose  only  child 
Amy,  soon  to  be  motherless,  lay  sound  asleep  on 
the  floor. 

Mr.  Winn  spoke.  Then  his  visitor  greeted  the 
sufferer:  "Are  you  feeling  better  to-night,  old 
woman  ?  I  hope  you  are  as  happy  as  you  used 
to  be  in  Greenville  some  years  ago." 

"  T'ank  you,  massa.     I  feels    pow'ful   weak." 

"  Do  you  know  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sah,  I  knows  you  ;  it's  Mars  Janes.  You 
kill  dat  big  black  bear  what  eat  my  boy  John. 
Is  you  got  de  skin  on  your  floor  yit,  sah?  " 

"  Feede,  Feede,  listen !  Suppose  I  told  you 
no  black  bear  ever  touched  your  son,  would  you 
believe  me  ?" 

At  the  name  "  Feede,"  Abel,  who  stood  in 
front  of  the  fire,  sprang  to  the  bedside. 

"Ma,"  he  cried,  "is  dat  you?"  Then  he 
peered  into  her  half-closed  eyes. 

Weak    and     exhausted,     Feede     continued: 


The  Old  South.  125 

"  Massa,  does  you  t'ink  when  I  gits  ter  heaven  I'll 
find  John  dere  ?  Kin  de  Lord  resurrect  him  from 
the  maw  of  de  bear?  If  I  could  only  see  my 
boy  once  more !  Amy !  push  up  the  fire,  ma's 
gittin'  cold." 

"Ma!  ma!"  continued  Abel,  "here's  your 
John  !  Here  I  is,  ma  !  No  bear  eat  me  !  Don't 
you  know  me  ?  I  ain't  name  Abel ;  I's  name 
John.  Don't  you  'member  you  spanked  me  an' 
kivered  me  head  an'  ears  when  you  was  a-going' 
ter  de  quiltin'  '  " — throwing  his  arms  round  her 
neck. 

Startled,  Feede  returned  the  embrace.  "  Bless 
de  Lord  !  I's  find  my  boy."  Her  glazed  eyes 
fastened  upon  his  face.  "  Pull  up  your  sleeve, 
John  ;  let  ma  see  de  w'ite  scar." 

"  Mars  Janes,"  she  cried,  "  here  sure  'nough's 
my  John  !  Did  you  kill  de  bear  ?  "  She  gasped 
a  few  times,  then  fell  back  upon  her  pillow  ; — her 
fingers  patted  the  coverlid. 

"  Lie  down,  John,  lie  down,  let  ma  kiver  you 
up.  Ma's  goin'  cross  de  riber,  but  ma  '11  be  back 
bumbye." 

By  the  influence  of  a  hidden  sense,  that  needed 
but  a  trifle  to  kindle  into  life  a  dead  memory, 
Abel  picked  up  the  lost  thread  that  bound  him 
to  the  past :  a  familiar  but  forgotten  name 
brought  all  to  mind. 


126  Lyddy:  A  Tale  of 

After  Feede's  funeral,  father  bought  Amy. 
When  packing  her  mother's  effects,  she  found  a 
pair  of  little  pants,  securely  bound  up  with  a  bright 
patchwork  quilt  that  Dean's  cook  had  given 
Feede.  The  latter  had  never  been  used ;  for, 
with  negro  superstition,  no  one  would  lie  beneath 
a  covering  that  had  cost  a  mother  so  much  sorrow. 

We  were  to  hear  a  real  Indian  story  before 
breakfast,  but  Lydia  forestalled  her  master. 
Shaking  each  child  excitedly,  she  said,  "  Jump  up, 
chilluns,  de  heavens  is  weepin'  fer  joy  !  de  ground 
is  w'ite  wid  angels'  tears !  Bro'  Molbro  say  he 
couldn't  sleep  las'  night  fer  singin'  hallalujah  ! 
Dat  old  bear  from  Bulltown  swamp  galloped  to 
Floridy  an'  puked  de  boy  John  plumb  'fore  a 
Injin's'  wigwam ;  he  was  pleased  wid  de  mudder- 
less  child ;  so  de  squaw  feed  him  wid  gumbo 
soup  an'  oranges.  Would  you  believe  it,  chilluns, 
he  is  growd  ter  be  a  big  man  ?  It's  de  same  fel 
low  what  eat  supper  in  de  kitchin  las'  night. 
Nobody  know'd  him.  Down  in  Floridy  de  Injin 
warrior  mus*  a  liked  massa's  talk,  caise  he  give 
him  John  ter  bring  ter  his  mudder,  Feede.  When 
she  seed  de  w'ite  scar,  she  pulled  up  de  quilt 
what  Dean's  cook  give  her  an'  she  patted  John's 
head  :  '  Lie  down,  John,  let  ma  kiver  you  up, 
I's  goin'  ober  de  riber  Jordan,  but  ma's  sperit 
will  come  bumbye  an'  keep  comp'ny  wid  you.' 


The  Old  South.  127 

Den  old  Feede  dropped  back  daid.  Be  quick, 
chilluns,  and  dress ;  le's  go  an*  fill  a  bottle  wid 
de  angels'  tears,  fer  it  looks  like  a  big  fedder 
bed  from  de  golden  city  is  turned  loose  in  de 
wind." 

Having  never  before  seen  a  fall  of  snow,  our 
nurse's  original  explanation  of  a  snow-storm 
suited  our  excitable  young  minds. 

In  the  confusion  of  dressing,  three  loud  knocks 
at  the  adjoining  window  sent  us,  one  and  all, 
pell-mell  into  Lydia's  arms,  with  soap,  sponge, 
shoes,  stockings,  frocks,  comb,  and  brush. 

"  Massa,"  a  voice  called,  "  old  Jerry  is  daid, 
sah  ;  stiff  as  a  board." 

The  horse  Jerry  was  a  great  favourite  with  the 
children,  letting  them  clamber  on  his  broad  old 
back.  He  was  one  of  a  pair  bought  in  Maine. 
Father  surmised  that  Jerry  had  sniffed  the  keen 
cold  air,  and,  in  his  efforts  to  get  out  and  into  it, 
he  had,  by  his  own  force,  throttled  himself.  All 
the  horses  were  now  turned  out.  Tom,  Jerry's 
mate,  at  once  laid  himself  down,  rolling  in  the 
snow  with  evident  pleasure.  The  southern  bred 
animals,  however,  sought  the  warm  stable. 

Exemplifying  the  force  of  early  education, 
we,  as  all  southern  children,  never  thought  of 
the  dark  side  of  slavery ;  we  lived  regardless  of 
its  evil  consequences.  Similarly,  also,  knitters 


128  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

in  the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  who  dropped  a  stitch 
to  tally  with  human  heads  falling  into  the  basket, 
proved  that  they  were  inured  to  the  spectacle, 
apparently  seeing  only  the  bright  and  happy  side 
of  life. 


The  Old  South,  129 


X. 

Marlborough  and  his  Brute  Friend. 

"  Tears,  sighs,  prayers  fail,  but  true  love  lasteth  ever." 

ROBERT  JONES. 

FEBRUARY'S  blooms,  beaten  about  by 
March  winds,  lay  on  the  ground,  moulder 
ing.  Overhead,  festoons  of  grey  moss 
hung  like  a  funeral  shroud.  As  an  earnest  of  the 
future,  the  limbs  from  which  this  trailing  moss 
swayed,  showed  here  and  there  the  lifegiving 
power  of  spring.  Peach  and  plum  trees  were 
already  weighted  with  a  wealth  of  embryo  fruit, 
rounded  and  enlarged  each  day.  Innumerable 
pear-shaped  figs  protruded  from  dry  branches ; 
for  fig  trees  show  no  gay  blooms  as  forerunners 
of  a  frugal  crop. 

Labourers  were  busy  in  corn  and  cotton  fields, 
their  hoes  glistening  with  constant  friction  against 
mother-earth.  The  brisker  the  work,  the  merrier 
the  glee,  on  all  southern  estates. 

Green    Forest    was    no    exception.      Robin's 
voice,  clear  and  loud,  indicated  a  new  joy  had 
9 


130  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

come  to  supplant  his  dead  memory.  His  happi 
ness  struck  a  vibrating  cord  in  the  throats  of  field- 
lark  and  thrush ;  the  woods  were  resonant  with 
song. 

This  reinvigoration  of  flowers  and  birds  failed, 
however,  to  reinspire  our  nurse's  songs :  they 
sounded  like  funeral  dirges.  Old  April  Fool  even 
forgot  to  play  his  pranks  with  the  children. 

One  day  my  mother  asked  Lydia  why  she 
had  a  sad  countenance  ?  "  Are  you  ill  ?  " 

"  T'ank  you,  ma'am,  I's  all  right,  only  tryin'  ter 
do  my  duty.  Missus,  may  I  marry  Bro'  Robin?  " 
Her  voice  indicated  that  she  half-wished  the  per 
mission  would  be  withheld. 

"  I  have  no  objection,  if  you  think  you  will  be 
happier  as  his  wife.  You  already  have  a  house 
ful  of  children,  and  it  seems  to  me  that,  with 
Robin's  six,  you  will  have  much  care." 

"  It's  so,  ma'am,  but  ain't  dere  times  when  one 
must  do  deir  best  ter  fulfil  de  will  o'  God  ?  " 

"  Yes.  If  you  look  upon  it  as  God's  will,  it's 
all  right.  Has  Marlborough  taught  you  to  be 
lieve  all  marriages  are  made  in  heaven  ?  Poor 
fellow,  he  will  lose  his  faith  in  this  instance." 

"  Bro'  Molbro  don't  know  it,  ma'am,  an'  it's  fer 
dat  I  don't  want  ter  be  married  in  de  chu'ch. 
Won't  massa  ask  Mars  C.  C.  to  'form  de  ceremony 
in  de  nuss'ry  ?  " 


The  Old  South.  131 

"  You  may  be  married  in  the  parlour  or  dining- 
room  if  you  wish." 

"  De  nuss'ry  is  de  sweetest  place  in  de  world, 
ma'am.  I  want  my  w'ite  chilluns  round  about. 
Please  don't  give  me  a  wedden'  feast." 

No  one  talked  about  the  approaching  marriage, 
arranged  by  preternatural  power.  An  account  of 
the  spiritual  influence  reached  Flora,  awing  her 
into  silence. 

With  heavy  heart  Affie  beat  a  cake  light,  groan 
ing  over  the  fact  that,  morning  by  morning,  Marl- 
borough's  coffee  was  weakened  with  briny  drops. 
Stunned  as  he  had  been  by  the  interposition  of 
heaven  in  ringing  the  bell  overhead  when  he  was 
following  Satan's  lead,  he,  nevertheless,  not  by  a 
single  word,  let  it  be  known  that  he  was  aware  of 
his  brother's  good  fortune. 

One  Saturday  afternoon,  April  twentieth,  Dr. 
C.  C.  drove  to  Green  Forest  to  spend  the  night. 
Sunday  he  was  due  to  preach  at  Pleasant  Grove 
Church.  About  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening,  Old 
Soul,  Lily,  Juno,  James  and  Georgia, — Nanny 
and  Jack,  with  two  broken  front  teeth, — stood 
in  line  against  the  nursery  wall. 

The  door  opened,  and  the  venerable  Dr.  C.  C. 
entered,  leaning  upon  the  arm  of  Green  Forest's 
master,  who  was  holding  in  his  hand  a  well-worn 
Bible,  brought  from  England  many  years  before. 


132  Lyddy:  A  Tale  of 

In  the  rear  followed  the  mistress,  her  group 
of  children  visibly  excited  and  looking  behind. 
Then  came  a  woman  neatly  dressed  in  a  blue 
calico-print,  with  tucked  cambric  apron  and  snow- 
white  bandanna.  Beside  her  walked  a  man  as 
black  as  ebony. 

A  short  prayer,  a  scripture  lesson,  and  the 
clergyman  said:  "In  the  name  of  the  Lord  I 
pronounce  you  husband  and  wife.  What  God 
hath  joined  together  let  not  man  put  asunder. 
Amen !  " 

In  his  usual  happy  way,  he  then  shook  hands, 
wishing  Lydia  and  Robin  joy  in  their  new  rela 
tionship.  The  master  and  mistress  did  the  same. 
From  one  to  another  the  children  handed  silver 
baskets  filled  with  slices  of  cake. 

Lydia,  kissing  their  dainty  hands,  whispered, 
"Call  mommer  when  you's  sleepy." 

"  Mamma  says  Old  Soul  and  Lily  can  put  us 
to  bed  to-night,"  piped  up  Letha. 

"  No  dey  won't,  needer.  I'll  not  neglect  my 
w'ite  chilluns  fer  anybody." 

Marlborough  fully  understood  the  purport  of 
this  clerical  visit  ;  it  extinguished  his  last  ray  of 
hope.  Into  a  trough  he  dashed  a  measure  of 
corn  and  bundle  of  fodder,  then  he  haltered  the 
parson's  tired  old  mare  in  front  of  it,  scarcely  re 
moving  from  its  ill-kept  coat  the  dust  of  travel. 


The  Old  South.  133 

Long  past  his  hours  of  work  the  heartsick  man 
groomed  old  Bolivar,  first  with  curry-comb,  then 
with  brush.  The  hide  of  the  worn-out  animal, 
unaccustomed  to  such  attention,  was  sore  rather 
than  refreshed,  and  he  switched  his  tail  and 
stamped,  first  one  foot  then  the  other,  trying,  in 
brute  language,  to  indicate  that  he  had  enough. 

"  Be  still,  Bolivar !  Ain't  you  learned  to  obey 
yit  ?  All  my  life  I  has  been  obliged  ter  do  what 
I  was  told  ter  do;  be  still,  old  fellow!"  He 
leaned  forward  and  whispered  into  his  furry  ear, 
"  Does  you  hear  a  sledge-hammer  poundin'  heavy 
blows  on  my  heart?  Yit  I  must  keep  still  w'ile 
dat  rascal  calls  my  Lyddy  his  wife."  To  sup 
press  his  anger,  he  gritted  his  teeth.  "  Massa's 
been  good  ter  you  an'  me,  ain't  he,  old  horse  ? 
It's  only  dat  what  keeps  me  from  followin'  Cain. 
I  couldn't  live  an'  hear  my  name  called  as  massa 
called  it  one  morning  in  de  library."  He  clasped 
his  arms  round  the  muscular  neck  of  the  dumb 
creature. 

"  Yes,  Bolivar,  you  an'  me  is  in  bondage.  Eat 
your  corn,  old  fellow,  wid  a  t'ankful  heart,  caise 
you  ain't  got  no  mind  ter  be  cut  up  as  I  is.  My 
mouth  is  bitter.  Yonder,  folks  is  eatin'  sweet 
cake.  I  can't  help  myself  caise  Fs  a  slave. 

He  pressed  his  hand  over  his  breast,  where  lay 
his  alleged  dagger,  then  back  on  the  hot  side  of 


134  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

the  old  horse  he  leaned.  Many  years  before,  he 
had  driven  Bolivar  from  Riseburg,  with  a  young 
woman  beside  him,  on  the  carriage  front. 

"  If  what  massa  says  is  true  dat  '  God  is  love/ 
O  Lord,  do  let  me  keep  dis  till  I  kin  win  my 
Lyddy,  my  angel  wid  snow-w'ite  wings." 

With  the  tenderness  of  a  woman  he  caressed 
his  hidden  treasure,  that  some  day  was  to  fulfil 
its  mission,  even  over  an  open  grave. 


The  Old  South.  135 


XI. 
I,ot  Number  Four. 

"  The  golden  circlet  of  life's  work  well  done 
Set  with  the  shining  pearl  of  perfect  rest." 

IN  May,  as  usual,  we  again  left  the  plantation 
for  our  summer  residence.  Robin  visited 
his  wife  twice  a  week,  bringing  with  him  a 
bag  of  children's  clothes  to  be  washed  :  his  wife 
excelled  as  a  laundress. 

During  that  summer,  the  household  servants 
evinced  much  uneasiness,  because  three  mornings 
in  succession,  Fido,  the  family  pet,  had  been  seen 
dragging  his  left-hind  leg. 

Another  uncanny  omen  startled  them  when  two 
cranes,  which  seldom  come  near  human  habita 
tions,  settled  upon  the  balustrade,  beside  the 
mistress'  bedchamber. 

Lydia  shouted  at  them.  Whereupon  one  flew 
away,  soon  followed  by  the  other. 

Months  passed,  but  nothing  happened  to  verify 
the  evil  omens. 

When  hot,  sultry  days  gave  place  to  a  glorious 


136  Lyddy:  A  Tale  of 

Indian  summer,  with  its  clear,  crispy -cool  morn 
ings,  we  rejoiced.  For,  after  the  second  frost,  it 
was  safe  to  return  to  the  home  in  the  oaklands 
which  we  loved. 

October  had  now  but  one  day  before  it  would 
drop  from  the  year's  calendar,  and,  as  its  last  sun 
was  sinking  in  the  west,  a  baby -boy  arrived. 

The  natal  song  was  hardly  sung,  and  night  was 
slowly  throwing  about  the  earth  its  sombre  gar 
ment,  when  the  angel  of  death  folded  his  wings 
above  the  mother's  couch.  Calling  Chim,  the 
eldest-born,  she  committed  the  cradled  infant  to 
her  care,  saying :  "  When  we  are  gone,  I  know 
you  will  be  a  mother  and  father  to  your  sisters  and 
brothers."  Turning  to  Lydia,  she  whispered : 
"Take  good  care  of  my  little  baby  boy.' 

The  news  of  the  mistress'  death,  transmitted  to 
Green  Forest,  caused  profound  consternation  and 
grief.  Nearly  all  our  slaves  came  to  the  funeral, 
accompanied  by  others  from  adjoining  estates. 
The  spacious  summer  residence  was  crowded  with 
friends,  the  coloured  people  standing  about  the 
steps  and  gate.  As  the  cortege  moved  toward 
Midway  Cemetery,  with  hundreds  following,  there 
broke  forth  a  cry  of  sorrow.  Like  a  dead  march 
muffled  in  sound,  they  moaned,  "  We  dear  good 
misses  is  daid,"  their  words  followed  by  sobs  and 
low  cries  of  anguish. 


The  Old  South.  137 

Beside  the  hearse  a  small  white  dog  ran,  saliva 
dropping  from  the  tip  of  his  tongue.  The  negroes 
declared  he  was  weeping.  The  loving  wife,  mother, 
and  mistress  was  laid  beneath  an  ancient  live-oak, 
burdened  with  grey  moss. 

Her  little  dog  Fido  soon  pined  and  died  ; 
and  when  the  time  came  to  bury  it,  Lydia  and 
her  "w'ite  chilluns"  stood  in  mute  grief,  while 
Marlborough  dug  for  it  a  grave  beside  the  myrtle 
bush.  There  he  had  heard  the  death-knell  of  his 
brightest  hopes — Marmaduke  pleading  with  the 
one  woman  he  loved. 

Nanny,  the  waitress,  also  had  presented  her 
husband  with  a  fine  healthy  black  baby,  that 
they  called  Lucy  Ann,  after  its  dead  aunt. 

Touched  by  the  wails  of  the  little  white  orphan, 
Nanny  timidly  besought  her  master  to  allow  her 
to  nourish  the  child,  saying,  "  My  Lucy  is  strong 
an'  well,  she  kin  drink  milk." 

With  a  grief  that  was  almost  breaking  his 
heart,  her  master  assented  :  "  God  bless  you  !  do 
your  best  and  you  will  be  rewarded." 

Tim  Cay  often  declared  that  his  wife  loved  the 
boy  better  than  the  girl.  For  if  they  both  cried, 
the  foster-mother  comforted  the  one,  but  allowed 
Lucy  Ann  to  expend  her  best  efforts  in  dilating 
her  lungs. 

I  again  copy  a  few  words  from  the  old  planta- 


138  Lyddy:  A  Tale  of 

tion  diary ;  inasmuch  as  they  prove  the  relation 
ship  that  existed  between  at  least  one  master  and 

his  slaves. 

January  rjth. 

This  is  Chim's  birthday,  and  I  realise  that  her  loving 
companionship  has  helped  me  to  bear  the  desolation  of 
my  life.  Much  comfort  comes,  too,  from  my  negroes, 
who,  while  at  work  in  the  fields,  do  their  utmost  to  cheer 
me,  saying,  "  Massa,  we  is  broken-hearted,  but  de  will  of 
de  Lord  mus'  be  done.  Don't  fret,  sah,  we  people  is 
a-doin'  all  we  kin  fer  you  an'  missus'  chilluns." 

A  few  golden  crocuses  peeped  above  the  soggy 
earth,  smiling,  as  it  were,  over  the  departure  of 
winter's  sharp  frosts.  On  the  air  came  faint 
odours,  intimating  that  somewhere,  in  sheltered 
corners,  violets  bloomed. 

A  crimson  flush  burned  upon  the  master's 
cheek,  and  he  removed  to  Greenville  for  change. 
It  was  beautiful  there  then !  Spring  buds  had 
burst  into  blossom  ;  birds,  happily  mated,  built 
their  nests  in  tree-tops,  carolling  their  love-songs. 
But  again  an  angel  stopped  in  his  flight,  saying : 
"  Enter  ye  into  the  courts  above."  The  gate  of 
the  celestial  city,  thus  once  more  opened,  that  two 
loving  hearts  might  be  reunited.  Another  wail 
of  mourning  resounded  in  that  pine-land  village. 

Marlborough  believed  more  than  ever  that  mar 
riages  were  recorded  in  heaven.  Beside  the  corpse 


The  Old  South.  139 

Lydia  and  he  seemed  to  hear  music  sounding, 
angels  wafting  their  white  robes,  crying,  "  De 
bridegroom  comes  on  de  wing  of  de  mornin', 
castin'  crowns  at  de  feet  o'  de  Lord." 

"  Bro'  Molbro,"  she  said,  "  I  seed  missus  last 
night  comin'  wid  outspread  wings,  holdin'  a  gold 
en-haired  boy  by  de  han',  that  died  when  my 
James  was  a  baby ;  den  all  de  choir  o'  angels  bowed 
deir  heads  fer  when  massa  an'  missus  met  it  was 
too  sacred  fer  dem  to  look  at.  '  Dwell  from  hence 
in  my  fadder's  house  where  is  many  mansions.' 
Ain't  dat  de  word,  Bro'  Molbro?" 

"  Yes,  my  Lyddy ;  dere  is  a  house  not  made 
wid  hands  fer  you  an'  fer  me,  too,  when  we  is  dun 
wid  de  tribulations  o'  dis  world ;  you'll  have  a 
crown  o'  gol'  wid  Lyddy  writ  on  it,  so  soap  an' 
water  can't  wash  it  out.  Will  you  be  my  wife 
dere?"  he  asked,  pleadingly. 

Her  tears  choked  her  reply  into  inaudible 
sound. 

To  this  day,  rich  and  poor  recall  with  pleasure 
the  merry  voice  and  sweet  speech  of  Green  Forest's 
master.  And  for  years  after  his  death,  his  loving 
slaves  greeted  us  with  affectionate  assurances, 
as,  "  We  poor  orphan  chilluns !  De  Lord  bless 
we  good  massa's  chilluns." 

Father's  estate,  according  to  law,  had  to  be 
assessed  and  divided  ;  for  he  left  no  will.  Had 


140  Lyddy:  A  Tale  of 

he  been  a  resident  of  Great  Britain,  Fleming 
would  have  come  into  possession  of  the  landed 
property,  with  the  greater  part  of  his  father's 
money. 

Happily,  each  of  us  shared  equally  our  parent's 
property. 

Neither  whites  nor  blacks  cared  to  express 
preferment  as  to  owner  or  owned  ;  although  on  the 
day  of  the  division  one  or  two  old  women  dared 
to  whisper,  "  I's  praying  I  may  fall  ter  you, 
honey,"  or  "  you,"  as  fancy  dictated. 

Letha  confided  to  me  that  she  cared  little 
whom  she  drew,  except  that  list  with  Scipio  at 
its  head.  "  He's  too  grand  and  overpowering. 
I'd  never  know  how  to  talk  to  him." 

In  dollars  and  cents,  however,  he  was  the  most 
valuable  of  the  lot.  Later,  Letha's  involuntary 
expression  of  dismay,  told  that  her  fears  were  re 
alized.  In  my  hand  was  slip  number  four,  headed 
with  Lydia's  name  and  the  names  of  her  family. 

I  did  not  wait  to  run  down  the  column,  but, 
delighted,  darted  out  the  front  door,  to  where 
the  plantation  people  were  congregated. 

"  Mommer,  you  are  mine  !  "  I  cried. 

In  an  instant  she  clasped  me  to  her  bosom,  my 
arms  wound  round  her  neck.  Other  slaves  kissed 
my  hands,  and  even  my  feet,  saying,  "  We 
missy;  we  Miss  Dodo?" 


The  Old  South.  141 

What  similar  scenes  were  enacting  round  and 
about  never  occurred  to  me  to  note.  The  world, 
recently  shrouded  in  gloom,  was  now  bright. 
For  she  who  loved  our  father  and  mother  would 
never  leave  me.  No  picture  of  happiness  was 
ever  painted  with  brighter  colours.  Neither  the 
fear  of  death  nor  a  thought  of  Lydia's  freedom 
ever  intruded  to  rob  that  hour  of  its  sweet  happi 
ness;  she  belonged  to  me,  and  would  be  always 
near  to  brush  away  my  tears. 

Lydia  went  from  one  to  another,  comforting 
them,  saying  :  "  Never  mind,  mommer  will  come  to 
see  you,"  seeming  to  think  our  household  was  at 
once  to  be  broken  up. 

Hetty,  clinging  to  the  baby,  called  him  her 
"little  massa." 

"  Wid  her  last  breath,  missus  told  me  to  take 
care  o'  him,  an'  nobody  shall  part  us.  Shall  dey, 
sonny?"  And  Lydia  hugged  and  kissed  the 
crowing  child. 

Juno,  a  "deed  of  gift"  to  me  years  before, 
was  not  included  in  the  appraisement. 

Marlborough  fell  to  the  lot  of  Chim,  thereby 
greatly  delighting  her,  as  he  had  been  nearer  to 
his  master  than  any  other  slave  on  the  place. 

Fleming  drew  Lily,  the  seamstress. 

But  time  passed,  and  Letha  and  Dodo — my 
self — soon  entered  a  college  for  young  ladies. 


142  Lyddy:  A  Tale  of 


XII. 
Juno's  Wedding  Festivities. 

"  When  you  get  married  I'll  wait  on  you." 

IN  southern  climates  girls  develop  rapidly,  as 
suming  womanly  duties  when  they  should 
still  be  in  short  frocks.  While  yet  scarcely 
more  than  a  child,  Letha,  accordingly,  married  her 
cousin,  a  captain  in  the  regular  army.  He  had 
served  his  country  in  Mexico. 

One  year  after,  old  Jacob  mounted  his  pony 
and  delivered  invitations  to  neighbours  for  the 
marriage  of  Dodo,  Lydia's  mistress,  to  a  tall, 
handsome  youth,  hardly  past  his  teens. 

Rumor  said  that  Revilo  Bee,  years  before,  had 
vowed  that  he  would  wed  Dodo,  then  a  ten-year- 
old  girl  weeping  over  her  mother's  bier. 

Believing  that  marriages  were  recorded  in 
heaven,  Marlborough  and  Lydia  watched  with 
interest  the  first  intimation  of  love-making  that 
Revilo  manifested  when  he  visited  Green  Forest 
or  Greenville. 


The  Old  South.  143 

In  time,  then,  under  the  roof  of  the  old  home 
stead,  "  two  lives  with  but  a  single  thought " 
were  united,  and  on  that  winter  wedding-day 
mocking-birds  trilled  their  richest  notes  in  lieu 
of  a  wedding-march. 

Juno  stood  at  the  steps,  the  envy  of  all  her  as 
sociates,  while  hundreds  of  blacks  awaited  the 
moment  to  shower  rice  upon  the  pathway  of  the 
newly-wedded  pair. 

Juno's  attire,  as  well  as  her  wardrobe,  had  been 
arranged  with  great  care.  For,  she  declared,  the 
bride  would  be  adjudged  in  her  new  home  by  the 
appearance  of  her  maid.  For  the  journey  she 
wore  a  print  frock,  with  blue  drawn-cambric 
bonnet  lined  with  pink,  her  face  merry  with  de 
light,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  she  was  soon  to  be 
separated  from  her  former  girl-associates. 

Her  mother's  farewell  words  rang  in  her 
ears: 

"  Be  a  good  gal.  Don't  let  your  young  massa 
have  cause  ter  scold  you.  Be  sure  you  takes  care 
of  your  nice  frocks  an*  missus'  wedden  clothes." 

Later,  at  Swansea,  Lydia  took  her  position  as 
chief  servant ;  often,  indeed,  giving  advice  as  to 
how  matters  should  be  conducted.  I  continued 
to  be  one  of  her  "  w'ite  chilluns,"  subject  to  her 
imperative  commands.  For,  as  is  well-known, 
southern  mammies,  with  all  their  tender-hearted- 


144  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

ness,  were  often  exacting.  In  truth,  more  than 
one  young  mistress  has  wept  tears  of  bitterness 
rather  than  wound  the  feelings  of  a  dear  old 
woman  that  had  cuddled  her  lovingly  when 
childish  griefs  seemed  insupportable. 

Maids  in  all  lands  are  wont  to  imitate  their 
mistresses.  It  was  not  long,  therefore,  before 
Juno  found  her  susceptible  heart  touched.  Mas 
tering  her  naturally  timid  nature,  she  informed 
me  one  morning  that  she  wished  to  make  a  con 
fession. 

"  Well !  "  I  said,  "  what  have  you  broken  to 
day  ?  All  my  parlour  ornaments  will  be  destroyed 
by  your  carelessness.  I  warn  you  to  be  careful 
of  our  lovely  Dresden  vases." 

Giving  a  short  cough,  she  replied,  "  I  wants  fer 
tell  you," — then  another  cough  came  to  her  aid. 

"  You  would  tell  me  that  you  were  looking  out 
the  window  while  dusting  the  mantel,  and  so  did 
not  mean  to  break  anything  ?  " 

"  Missy,  I's  sure  I  ain't  broke  de  fus  t'ing.  I 
want's  fer  tell  you  dat  Dick," — her  cough  again 
interrupted  her  speech. 

"  Oh,  it's  Dick,  then,  that  has  been  doing  dam 
age.  I  suppose  he  has  ridden  my  horse  Beulah 
lame,  when  he  has  orders  never  to  mount  her. 

"  Don't  scold  poor  Dick,  missy,  he  neber  gits 
on  Beulah.  I  knows,  caise  we  walks  ter  de 


The  Old  South.  145 

spring,  de  mare  a-pullin'  de  line,  a-nibblin*  young 
grass." 

"If  what  Dick  has  done  is  a  pure  accident," 
"  I  will  have  to  forgive  him,  for  he  seems  to  be  a 
good  sort  of  fellow." 

"  He's  mighty  good  an'  kind,  ma'am.  We  was 
goin'  ter  water  de  pony  yisterday  when  Dick  plant 
he  foot  down,  an'  say :  '  Juno,  I  can't  sleep ;  dis 
t'ing  must  be  'cided  one  way  or  todder.' '  She 
stuck  her  forefinger  between  her  pearly  white 
teeth,  then  bent  her  head  to  one  side. — "What 
would  you  say,  missy,  if  you  was  me  ?" 

"Juno,  have  you  lost  your  wits?  "What  are 
you  talking  about  ?  Lace  my  boots,  and  let  me 
finish  dressing." 

"  Daniel  is  a-begging  me  too,  ma'am ;  "  she 
resumed,  after  a  brief  pause,  "  fer  say  de  same 
t'ing." 

Lydia,  her  mother,  fortunately  entered  the 
room. 

"  What  trouble  is  this  brewing,  Lydia,  I  said. 
Juno  is  trying  to  confess  some  complication  with 
both  Daniel  and  Dick.  Do  you  know  of  it  ?  " 

"  Shoh !  Shoh !  Silly  gal,  is  you  fread  o' 
your  good  missy  ?  Don't  make  a  fool  o'  your 
self.  Say  square  an'  plain  dat  dese  fellows  has 
cou't  you  an'  dat  you  wants  ter  marry  one  of 
dem." 
10 


146  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

"  It's  the  boys'  hearts,  then,  Juno,  that  you've 
been  breaking,  instead  of  china?  I  suppose  they 
are  crushed  into  atoms." 

"  It's  so,  ma'am !  Dey  say  deir  hearts  is  all 
gone  ter  pieces,  an'  nobody  kin  mend  dem  but 
me.  If  you  was  me  which  would  you  'cide 
on?" 

"  Indeed,  this  is  a  curious  state  of  affairs  !  You 
want  your  husband  chosen  for  you,  from  among 
so  many  good-looking  fellows !  Suppose  the 
one  that  I  select  is  not  the  one  recorded  in 
heaven  !  You'd  be  tearing  each  other's  wool,  or 
fretting  as  poor  Marlborough  did.  Some  one 
then  would  write  in  a  book  that  darkie  girls  are 
not  allowed  to  choose  their  own  husbands,  and 
would  thus  excite  the  sympathy  of  the  whole 
world.  I  can  help  you  a  little.  Which  do  you 
think  is  the  handsomest,  Dick  or  Daniel  ?  " 

"  Dick  is  heap  handsomer  dan  Daniel !  he's 
six  foot !  Daniel's  head  ain't  no  higher  dan 
mine." 

"  He  is  older  and  perhaps  a  better  man,"  I 
ventured. 

"  Law,  ma'am,  Dick  neber  tells  me  a  lie.  Daniel 
is  all  de  time  foolin'.  He  promise  me  a  string  o' 
glass  beads,  an'  when  I  ask  him  'bout  dem,  he 
laugh  an'  say :  '  My  dear  little  miss,  I  forgot 
todder  night  when  I  was  at  Mars  Gus'  store. 


The  Old  South.  147 

Jes  you  wait  till  I  cut  de  ole  rooster's  spurs  ! 
Den  I'll  sell  him  an'  buy  you  de  bes'  string  deir 
is  ;  will  you  have  yaller  or  blue  ?  ' ' 

"  Just  like  all  men,  Juno,  they  always  forget. 
Don't  depend  on  them." 

"  If  Dick  tells  me  he's  goin'  ter  giv'  me  any- 
t'in',  certain  sure  he'll  buy  it  de  fu's  time  massa 
drives  ter  de  store." 

"  Perhaps  he  is  also  buying  for  the  other  girls 
in  the  same  way.  White  and  black,  they  will 
all  flirt ! " 

"  Dick  say  he  wouldn't  buy  a  brass  pin  fer  any 
odder  gal.  Daniel  promise  Judy  an'  Peggy  a 
bundle  o'  candy,  an'  Judy  is  braggin'  now  'bout 
a  real  gol'  pin  he's  goin'  ter  give  her." 

"  Juno,  tell  me,  do  you  know  what  people  call 
love?  Does  your  heart  ever  thump  or  go  pit-a 
pat  ?  " 

"  Missy,  you's  makin'  game  o'  me  !  Eb'ry  time 
Dick  drives  de  carriage  ter  de  front  dooe  my 
heart  trembles  like." 

"  I  see  only  one  way  that  I  can  help  you.  Go 
and  get  a  pencil  and  a  sheet  of  paper.  I'll  write 
Dick  and  Daniel ;  then  you  may  draw  names,  as 
you  did  when  you  became  my  maid.  After  so 
much  trouble  in  deciding,  remember,  you  must  be 
content  with  the  one  you  get. 

No  time  was  to  be  lost ;  the  excited  girl  real- 


148  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

ised  that  her  destiny  was  now  about  to  be  irrevo 
cably  decided.  So  casting  aside  her  timidity,  she 
pleaded  as  if  for  her  very  life  ! 

"  Oh,  my  dear  missy,  don't  make  me  draw 
papers,  caise  I  likes  Dick  lots  better  dan  Daniel." 

"  Foolish  girl !  Why  then  all  this  useless  talk. 
Couldn't  you  have  told  me  at  first  that  you  loved 
the  coachman.  Of  course  he  is  more  suited  to 
you  than  a  corn-field  hand.  In  a  day  or  two  I 
suppose  you'll  be  asking  for  wedding  clothes  and 
a  feast. 

"  I's  so  happy,  ma'am.  Won't  Dick  be  glad  when 
I  tell  him  ter-night  dat  we  is  goin'  ter  git  married. 
Do  buy  me  a  w'ite  wedden  dress,  a  w'ite  veil  an* 
w'ite  flowers  an'  w'ite  gloves  ;  you  know  Miss 
Julia  King  is  done  buy  lots  of  putty  t'ings  ferher 
Sara  what's  goin'  ter  marry  Uncle  Jack's  son, 
Sam  ;  won't  you  give  Dick  dat  coat  an'  pants 
massa  say  he  don't  want  ?  an'  in  de  bureau  drawer 
is  a  w'ite  vest  tear  down  de  back  an'  a  pair  of  old 
w'ite  gloves."  She  did  not  make  one  pause  in 
her  long  request. 

Our  coachman's  beaming  face,  the  next  morn 
ing,  clearly  indicated  that  the  engagement  was 
agreed  on.  And  not  waiting  for  orders,  he  asked, 
as  I  entered  the  carriage,  "  Shall  I  drive  to  Mars 
Gus'  store,  ma'am  ?  " 

I  looked  at  him,  and  suspecting  what  he  was 


The  Old  South.  149 

thinking  of,  replied,  "  You  may  stop  there  after 
my  call  at  Mrs.  Rowland's." 

On  our  homeward  way  Dick  urged  his  horses 
more  than  was  his  wont.  In  his  heart  there  was 
a  longing  to  let  it  be  known  over  the  place  that 
Juno's  wedding  clothes  were  bought.  Daniel,  of 
course,  would  hear  the  news,  and  would  realize 
that  this  prize  was  lost  to  him. 

As  the  carriage  stopped  at  the  gate,  a  smiling 
ginger-coloured  face,  from  an  upstairs  window, 
looked  out;  Juno's  heart  was  thumping  wildly. 

When  her  trousseau  was  finished,  Saturday 
night  was  decided  upon  for  the  marriage.  Early 
in  the  week  preparations  began. 

"  Both  is  of  de  household  fam'ly,"  said  Uncle 
Toby  ;  "  de  big  pot  must  be  put  in  de  leetle  pot." 

He  spoke  with  authority,  as  he  had  been  asked 
by  Lydia  to  overlook  the  preliminary  arrange 
ments. 

Accordingly ,  selecting  twelve  marriageable 
girls,  he  gave  to  each  an  egg,  instructing  them 
that  at  a  given  signal  they  must  break  them. 
"  Min'  you,"  said  he,  "  the  first  wench  what  puts 
down  her  two  half  shells,  keeping  de  yelk  with 
out  marrin'  it,  by  de  law  of  fate  must  be  de  next 
one  ter  have  a  wedden  feast." 

About  this  circle  of  joyous  egg-breakers  a 
number  of  sturdy  black  fellows  stood,  wondering 


1 50  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

if  they  would  stand  as  groom  when  the  next  cake 
was  made. 

At  the  end  of  the  table  Daniel,  short  of  stature, 
peeped  between  Judy  and  Peggy,  hoping  one  or 
the  other  would  win. 

In  slavery  days,  Southern  masters  supplied  all 
wedding  feasts  on  their  plantations  with  meat, 
flour,  sugar,  butter,  and  coffee ;  while  friends  of 
the  couple  deemed  it  their  pleasure  to  give 
chickens  and  eggs. 

Toby  tried  to  see  that  supper  was  sufficient  for 
everybody  to  have  "  a  right  smart  bite,"  other 
wise,  he  declared,  "  dar  would  neber  be  any 
chilluns." 

Swansea,  having  no  chapel,  the  wash-house  was 
cleared  of  tubs,  its  walls  decked  with  cedar  boughs 
sprinkled  with  white-wash,  and  tufted  with  cotton 
fleece.  Two  men  and  two  girls  stood  as  waiters. 
It  was  so,  in  fact,  that  the  expression,  "  When 
you  get  married,  I'll  wait  on  you,"  originated. 

By  eight  o'clock  the  open  fire-place  was  ablaze 
with  resinous  pine-knots.  The  room  soon  filled 
with  guests,  each  bringing  his  or  her  own  bench. 
In  one  corner  was  a  soap-box  covered  with  carpet. 
This  was  for  the  watchman,  Frank,  who  had  come 
from  Green  Forest  to  perform  the  ceremony. 

"  Dey  is  missy  comin'  now  fer  de  w'ite  veil," 
many  whispered. 


The  Old  South.  151 

To  ensure  happiness  at  a  negro  wedding,  the 
tarlatan  veil  must  be  arranged  by  white  fingers. 

Like  all  brides  and  grooms,  both  Juno  and 
Dick  tried  to  look  their  best.  And  any  owner 
would  have  been  proud  of  them.  As  Frank 
mounted  the  soap-box,  a  breathless  silence 
reigned. 

"  Bro'  Toby,"  said  he,  "will  you  seedat  de  man 
an'  'oman  is  jestly  placed,  deir  right  han's  tightly 
clasped." 

"  Now,  bredderen  an'  sisteren,  let  us  pray  fer 
de  good  estate  of  Israel.  Blessed  Lord,  here  is 
a'sembly  congregate  in  dis  house  made  wid  hands 
ter  witness  de  j'inin'  of  two  of  Israel  chilluns. 
We  t'ank  de,  O  Fadder,  dat  dey  both  on  dem  is 
baptise  chilluns  of  de  chu'ch,  sprinkled  wid  water 
blessed  in  de  riber  Jordan  dat  day  when  a  dove 
come  down. 

"  Send,  O  Lord,  dis  night,  a  blessin'  ter  rest 
on  de  head  of  dis  pair.  Wid  one  mouth  we  is 
prayin'  dat  so  long  as  dey  lives  dey  will  neber 
forgit  what  dey  is  'bout  ter  promise.  Earthly 
love  is  teched  deir  heart.  Lord,  in  dis  solumn 
hour,  burn  deir  understandin'  wid  a  coal  of  fire, 
so  dey  kin  neber  'bliterate  from  deir  mind  what 
dey's  goin'  ter  say." 

"  Amen  !  amen  !  "  passed  from  one  to  another. 

Looking  intently  at  the  groom,  he  continued : 


152  Lyddy :  A  Tale  of 

"  Dick,  my  brudder,  is  you  fully  'cided  ter  take 
dis  lovely  lady  you's  holdin'  by  de  hand  ter  be 
your  lawful  weddin'  wife?" 

"  I  is,  sah  !  " 

"  Is  you  sure  you'll  love  her  forever  an'  ever, 
better  dan  yourself?" 

"  Yes,  sah." 

"  Is  you  willin'  ter  cut  wood,  bring  water,  an' 
wait  on  um,  not  'lone  when  she's  sick,  but  when 
she's  well?" 

"  I  is,  sah." 

With  a  touch  of  tenderness  in  his  voice,  Frank 
continued :  "  Juno,  my  sister,  you  hears  dese 
good  promises.  Is  you  certain  sure  you  loves 
dis  man,  squeezin'  your  han',  better  dan  all  de 
fellows  galavantin'  up  an'  down  dis  plantation  ?  " 
— he  waved  his  hand  over  the  crowd — "  Is  you 
made  up  your  mind  ter  cook,  patch,  an'  wash? 
Is  you  willin'  ter  git  up  early  o'  cold  mornin's, 
when  de  stars  is  yit  a-twinklin',  so  he  breakfast 
will  be  cooked  t'rough  an'  t'rough ;  not  scorched 
on  top?  Is  you  solumnly  made  up  your  mind 
ter  obey  dis  man  ter  de  best  of  your  knowledge  ?  " 

Toby  caught  a  faint  response,  and  exclaimed, 
"  De  lady  say  '  Yes  ' !  " 

"  You  both  on  you  is  now  promised  ;  den  in  de 
name  of  de  Lord  an'  de  chu'ch  I  sarves,  wid  de 
consent  of  your  massa  an'  missy,  an*  afore  all 


The  Old  South.  153 

dese  people,  I  proclaims  you  both  man  an'  wife. 
Hunno  people,  hear  what  de  good  book  says  " — 
he  lifted  Lydia's  English  Bible  to  his  lips  and 
kissed  it — "  What  is  j'ined  by  de  Gods  let  not 
man  or  'oman  interfere  wid !  " 

Down  from  the  soap-box  he  then  stepped,  lay 
ing  his  black  hand  upon  the  couple's  white 
cotton  gloves,  that  were  in  close  touch. 

"  My  brudder,  take  a  bit  of  advice  :  When  dis 
lady  gits  fractious,  as  all  does  sometimes,  neg- 
lectin'  your  work,  don't  hit  urn  like  a  no-count 
fellow,  but  jes  you  walk  her  straight  ter  your 
massa.  He's  a  good  man,  he'll  set  it  right." 

With  still  a  ring  of  pathos  in  his  tone,  he 
turned  to  the  bride:  "Sister,  some  day  you'll 
feel  like  grumbling ; — all  does.  Jes  you  shet 
your  mouth  tight,  an'  call  to  min'  dis  hour,  when, 
like  a  necklace  of  roses,  de  yoke  was  put  ober 
your  head.  Roses  has  prickies,  but  dey  is  sweet 
an'  purty.  Amen  ! " 

He  remounted  his  box,  and,  lifting  both  hands, 
he  enjoined  :  "Bredderen,  wid  one  min'  j'in  me 
in  supplication  :  '  Dear  Lord  Jesus,  dis  man  an'  he 
wife  is  'clared  in  dis  public  'sembly  dat  dey  loves 
one  anodder  an'  'tends  ter  be  faithful  an'  true  ter 
todder.  We  is  now  come  ter  de  t'rone  of  Grace 
ter  beg  dat  a  blessed  benediction  will  fall 
down  an'  settle  on  deir  head  like  early  dew,  what 


154  Lyddy :  A  Tale  of 

keep  corn  fresh  an'  green.  When  de  sun  gits 
hot  an'  trouble  comes,  Lord,  do  hold  dem  like 
de  apple  of  dy  eye,  in  de  hollow  of  dy  hand. 
Amen!" 

Bowing  to  the  couple,  he  then  said :  "  Will  de 
gent'man  salute  he  bride  wid  a  holy  kiss  square 
in  de  mouth  ?  " 

The  smack  resounded  from  the  four  corners  of 
the  low  ceiling. 

"  Amen  !  amen  !  "  burst  from  the  crowd. 

Frank  then  spoke  again :  "  Hunno  people,  by 
de  gen'rosity  of  we  good  w'ite  folks,  outside  is  a 
table  groanin'  wid  good  eaten ;  after  you  has 
saluted  de  bride,  you  is  Vited  ter  de  feast. 

In  imitation  of  her  mistress,  Juno  had  placed 
two  five-cent  pieces  in  her  bride's  cake.  Her  at 
tendants,  or  waiters,  cut  for  them.  If  a  man  should 
get  it,  he  would  hang  it  on  his  watchless  chain. 
If  a  girl,  she  would  hang  in  the  centre  of  her 
string  of  bright  glass  beads. 

The  supper  eaten,  music  and  dancing  followed. 

Negro  marriages  were  always  on  Saturday, 
friends  on  an  adjoining  plantation  usually  giving 
a  dinner  in  their  honor  on  Sunday.  This,  then, 
was  their  bridal  tour. 


The  Old  South.  155 


XIII. 
How    Can  We  I/et  Missy  Die? 

"And  statesmen  at  her  council  met 
Who  knew  the  seasons  when  to  take 
Occasion  by  the  hand  and  make 

The  bounds  of  freedom  wider  yet." 

— TENNYSON. 

IN  time,  another  cradle  needed  to  be  rocked. 
And  who  could  sway  it  more  gently  than 
Lydia? 

"  Mommer's  got  'nother  heir,"  she  said,  clasp 
ing  the  tiny  stranger  to  her  bosom.  "  'Nother 
new-born  child  ;  'nother  master  ter  love  an'  ter 
take  care  of  her  when  she's  old.  My  sweet  baby 
boy !  I  prays  de  Lord  you'll  be  spared  ter  your 
mommer." 

Southern  plantation-life  was  not  a  Utopia, 
with  days  gliding  by  upon  wings  of  ease.  Sweet 
dreams  of  young  married  life  were,  on  the  con 
trary,  often  hampered  by  vexing  cares.  To  keep 
order  required  a  steady  head.  To  produce  a 
profitable  crop,  unremitting  care.  Men,  women, 
and  children  needed  to  be  clothed  and  fed,  and 


156  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

growing  youths  required  constant  change  in  the 
patterns  of  their  clothes. 

Complaints  frequently  came  to  me:  "Missy, 
jes  look  at  my  breeches!  Aunt  Clarinda  mak' 
dem  fer  high-water  time ;  dey  is  so  tight  I  can't 
set  down.  My  jacket  won't  button,  an'  I  couldn't 
hug  a  gal  wid  it  on." 

Other  boys  had,  then,  to  be  put  into  these  ill- 
fitting  garments.  Slaves,  or  negroes,  too,  not 
having  the  elastic  constitution  of  factory  work 
ers,  died  suddenly  from  cold  or  exposure. 

Doctors  turn  out  of  bed  cheerfully,  or  at  least 
promptly,  for  gold,  but  for  a  child-wife  to  do  so 
because  some  old  woman  declared,  "If  missy 
didn't  come  she  would  die,"  seemed  hard  ;  yet 
their  illness  represented  uninvested  capital  from 
which  no  interest  accrued,  with  added  expense 
of  doctor  and  nurse.  Therefore,  self-interest 
prompted  a  care  of  the  sick. 

It  mattered  not  what  ailed  a  negro — pain  in 
the  head,  body,  or  chest — the  forehead  invariably 
had  to  be  bound  with  a  band  of  white  cloth; 
picturesque,  it  is  true,  but  to  them  always  sugges 
tive  of  pain.  They  cured  sore  throat  by  tightly 
strapping  a  tuft  of  hair  on  the  top  of  the  head  ;  lift 
ing,  thus,  an  obtrusive  palate.  Sighs  and  groans 
greeted  us  every  morning :  "  I's  so  sick  I  kin 
hardly  hold  up  my  haid  !  " 


The  Old  South.  157 

Caesar's  delight  was  to  empty  the  contents  of  a 
castor-oil  bottle  down  his  capacious  throat.  My 
husband  and  I  have  spent  hours  and  hours  at 
night  beside  ill  men  or  women,  not  daring  to 
leave  the  giving  of  medicine  to  a  nodding  granny. 

As  may  be  expected,  shamming  was  not  un 
usual.  Lydia,  in  fact,  often  spoke  of  two  in 
stances.  Jed,  a  negro  seamstress  of  an  old  lady 
living  near  Green  Forest,  hearing  of  a  basket  of 
pinafores  to  be  finished,  came  one  morning  with 
her  right  hand  encased  in  a  meal-poultice.  She 
said  she  had  been  roused  from  sleep  by  a  sudden 
pain. 

Home-remedies  failing,  a  physician  was  sum 
moned.  He  found  neither  splinter,  rising,  nor 
any  symptom  of  erysipelas;  but  her  will  closed 
her  fingers,  and  nothing  could  relax  the  muscles. 
Thereafter,  her  life  was  a  state  of  supreme  lei 
sure,  her  arm  slung  to  her  shoulder.  Lydia  and 
her  children  often  caught  sight  of  her  open 
fingers ;  but  she  carried  a  cake-canister  key,  and 
so  their  lips  were  sealed.  Her  hand  remained 
closed  until  the  shackles  of  slavery  were  snapped. 

Lydia,  with  her  "w'ite  chilluns,"  sometimes 
visited  old  Silvia,  bedridden  for  twenty  years. 

Her  master,  a  physician,  tried  exercise  in  a 
hoop  suspended  from  the  ceiling,  but,  left  alone, 
Silvia  tumbled  to  the  floor  in  a  lump,  her  spine 


158  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

seeming  not  strong  enough  to  keep  her  erect. 
But,  for  that  matter,  with  her  desire  to  collapse, 
no  power  on  earth  could  have  prevented  it. 

Her  master  finally  left  off  all  experiments, 
making  her  surroundings  as  comfortable  as  pos 
sible.  During  the  war  he  died,  but  old  Silvia 
was  cared  for  still,  and  seemed  quite  reconciled 
to  her  long  confinement. 

When  the  news  of  freedom  reached  her,  she 
arose  with  full  power  over  her  legs  and  spine  ;  for 
she  had  kept  them  supple  by  walking  at  night, 
while  her  owners  slept.  Many  negroes  knew  of 
her  deception,  but  they  feared  to  inform  on  her, 
lest  they  be  treated  to  a  cup  of  cold  poison  that 
she  kept  concealed. 

Both  pleasures  and  trials  surrounded  us,  and 
so  months  doubled  into  years.  In  Lydia's  cabin 
there  was  peace,  if  not  happiness ;  and  Robin 
drifted  into  "a  husband  of  no  importance." 

Every  one  living  north  of  Mason  and  Dixon's 
line,  without  regard  to  colour,  gloried  in  their 
freedom. 

South  of  that  latitude  thousands  wore  the  yoke 
of  slavery. 

Stephen  A.  Douglas  and  other  agitators,  wish 
ing  to  extend  the  boundary  of  slave-owning 
states,  waxed  hot  in  discussion.  Men  delegated 
to  make  and  amend  laws  in  the  Capitol  at  Wash- 


The  Old  South.  159 

ington,  now  set  their  constituency  a  bad  example  ; 
reason  lost  sway ;  for  members  on  the  same  sena 
torial  benches  flew  at  each  other  with  fiery,  hasty 
words.  Sermons  and  political  speeches  resounded 
with  the  keynote,  "  Set  the  negro  free  !  Colonise 
them  in  Liberia ! "  Abolition  zeal  waxed  hot, 
and  many  negroes  were  shipped  to  their  native 
country.  Sambo  and  Cudgo,  however,  worked 
their  way  home,  preferring,  they  said,  bondage 
with  clothing  and  civilisation,  to  freedom  in 
Liberia. 

Since  Captain  Hawkins  venturesome  purchase 
in  1620,  years  had  passed.  Smouldering  fires 
now  began  to  break  forth.  Under  the  Stars  and 
Stripes,  a  glorious  union  was  in  danger  of  being 
rent  asunder.  Eventually,  our  lovely  southern 
homes  were  engulfed  and  destroyed,  like  Pom 
peii  of  old,  with  crumbling  walls  and  heaps  of 
ashes  to  mark  the  spots. 

Of  the  civil  war  the  merest  thread  will  be  given, 
and  only  as  it  affected  the  life  of  both  Lydia  and 
Marlborough. 

South  Carolina  seceded  December  2d,  1860, 
declaring  herself  capable  of  governing  her  own 
State  affairs.  Others  followed.  Jefferson  Davis, 
of  Mississippi,  was  subsequently  elected  President 
of  the  Confederacy,  and  Richmond,  Virginia, 
named  as  its  Capital. 


160  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

A  standing  army  and  navy,  commanded  by  of 
ficers  from  West  Point  and  Annapolis,  supported 
by  a  powerful  government  at  Washington,  able 
instantly  to  mass  and  reinforce  her  troops,  should 
have  intimidated  a  young  Confederacy,  restricted 
in  materials  of  warfare  and  with  a  wide  area  over 
which  to  disperse  her  men.  But  with  the  words, 
"  Andaces  fortuna  Juvat,"  a  cry  rang  wildly 
over  the  south,  "  To  arms  !  to  arms  !  "  Men  and 
boys  buckled  on  their  accoutrements,  and,  with 
kisses  and  words  of  encouragement  from  wives, 
mothers,  sisters  and  sweethearts  still  warm  on  their 
lips,  banded  into  companies  and  regiments,  rush 
ing  to  the  front,  hoping  to  return  wearing  the 
victor's  crown. 

Southern  gentlemen  stuck  their  heels  higher 
than  their  heads,  smoke  curling  from  the  finest  of 
Havana  cigars,  and  laughed  at  the  impudence 

of  northern  statesmen  :  "Let  the Yankees 

come,  we  can  whip  them ;  batter  down  any 
barrier  ;  blow  up  any  gunboat  daring  to  interfere 
on  our  seacoast." 

The  first  cannon  was  fired  from  Fort  Sumter 
in  this  spirit. 

Letha  and  I  had  spent  many  a  Saturday  holi 
day  there,  with  General  Edward  C.  Anderson. 

Our  country  "  flowed  with  milk  and  honey,"  and 
money  was  plentiful.  The  soil  was  red  with 


The  Old  South.  161 

iron  ore.  But  no  one  ventured  to  dig  for  richer 
gains,  content  with  its  surface-yield  of  cotton. 

Living  in  sunny  rooms  adjoining  "  Uncle  Tom's 
Cabin,"  few  negroes  surmised  why  white  people 
fought.  Lydia  listened  with  interest  to  details 
in  newspapers,  never  dreaming,  however,  that 
her  master  would  leave  his  family  for  the  battle 
field. 

In  the  south,  as  well  as  in  the  north,  breakfast 
on  Sunday  is  alway  late  ;  and  in  ante-bellum  days 
it  was  luxuriously  so.  The  presence  too  of  war 
in  nowise  caused  any  well-to-do  southerner  to 
modify  this  custom.  One  Sunday  Revilo  and  I 
were  standing  on  the  front  piazza,  in  the  spring 
sunshine,  listening  to  a  pet  canary,  that  vied  with 
wild  birds  in  their  morning  song ;  the  air  was 
perfumed  with  roses,  and  on  every  side  ducks  and 
chickens  quacked,  clucked,  and  scratched,  regard 
less  of  this  day  of  rest. 

Edward  appeared  at  the  front  door.  In  his 
hand  he  held  a  long  peacock  brush.  He  then 
scraped  first  one,  then  the  other,  bare  foot, 
touched  his  forelock,  and  said,  "  Missy,  massa, 
ma  say  de  vittals  is  on  de  table  pipin'  hot." 

Hardly  was  the  blessing  said,  when  the  boy 
bounded  to  the  front  window,  exclaiming  "  Law ! 
yonders  Mars  Charley  wid  all  he  regiments  on ; 

an'  it's  Sunday  too  !  " 
II 


162  Lyddy:  A  Tale  of 

Every  one  rushed  to  the  garden  gate, — fly-brush 
as  well. 

Reining  in  his  horse  the  young  officer  shouted  : 
"  Meet  us  at  Barnard's  landing, — Yankee  gun 
boats  are  steaming  up  the  Riseburg!  " 

Having  discharged  his  first  active  duty,  he 
wheeled  his  horse,  and  disappeared. 

"  My  husband  uttered  a  shrill  whistle,  which  was 
answered  promptly  by  Dick.  "  Saddle  Romeo  at 
once,  with  my  cavalry  saddle ;  be  ready  in  your 
uniform  to  mount  Juliet  and  go  with  me." 

He  ran  up  the  garden-walk  and  up  the  stairs, 
two  steps  at  a  bound,  and  quickly  donned  a  gray 
fatigue  uniform.  With  a  word  of  cheer  to  me, 
he  leaped  into  his  saddle,  waved  an  adieu  at  the 
avenue  gate,  and  was  gone. 

Joy  and  happiness  had  dwelt  in  our  home ; 
now  it  appeared  shrouded  with  approaching 
death  and  separation.  Quick  firing  guns  and 
cannon  drowned  the  song  of  birds  and  the 
cackle  of  poultry.  Edward  resumed  his  post, 
manfully  fighting  greedy  and  pestiferous  flies  ; 
Lydia  stood  at  the  steps  holding  in  her  arms 
our  crowing  baby  ;  Juno,  with  a  plate  of  hot  waf 
fles,  found  the  table  deserted  ;  so  she  looked  about 
and  joined  those  at  the  front  gate ;  Maria,  the 
cook,  hearing  confusion,  rushed  through  the 
house  with  hot  fluffy  biscuits  for  her  master. 


The  Old  South.  163 

He  was  gone,— his  pockets  bulging  with  carbine 
ammunition.  Mute  with  amazement,  no  one 
spoke  until  Juno  screamed,  "  Missy's  w'ite  as  a 
ghos'."  Kind  insensibility  released  the  tension, 
and  I  fell  to  the  ground. 

Runners  rushed  to  the  village  for  doctor  or 
friends.  Not  a  white  man  was  to  be  found.  The 
clergyman  even  was  absent ;  for  with  sermon  in 
hand,  he  was  on  his  way  to  Barnard's  landing. 

"  What  is  we  to  do  ?  We  can't  let  missy  die, 
an*  massa's  away,"  the  negroes  cried. 

Lydia  stroked  my  brow,  and  did  her  best  to 
console.  "  Don't  min'  dat  rumblin' ;  in  spring 
dere  is  always  t'under  in  de  air," — yet  not  a  cloud 
obscured  the  sky, — "you  couldn't  hear  shootin' 
at  Barnard's  landin* ;  dat's  way  down  by  Pleasant 
Grove  chu'ch." 

Bowl  after  bowl  of  gruel,  during  the  day,  was 
sent  to  my  bedside  :  "  Beg  missy  to  take  one 
spoonful  fer  Chloe,  Clarinder,  or  Peggy,"  each 
said,  respectively. 

In  its  circuit  the  sun  traveled  down,  down  be 
low  the  horizon.  No  word  of  the  exaggerated 
accounts  of  the  killed  and  wounded  were  repeated 
upstairs.  At  nightfall  the  firing  ceased.  After 
tucking  "  her  baby  boy  "  in  bed,  Lydia  snored  in  a 
rocking-chair.  Juno  nodded  beside  my  bed,  in 
termittently  brushing  away  mosquitoes. 


1 64  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

A  sound  of  horses'  hoofs  came.  "  Massa's  safe," 
a  chorus  of  voices  shouted.  "  Massa's  safe,  t'ank 
de  Lord !" 

"  Massa's  safe  ag'in,"  cried  Dick ;  "  but  Mars 
Charley's  stiff  daid,  dem  Yankees  shot  him  t'rough 
an'  t'rough  de  heart.  We  is  licked  de  Yankees, 
Massa's  comin'  home  in  de  mornin*.  We  is 
whipped  de  Yankees  ?  Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  " 

Excited  voices  of  the  negroes  took  up  the 
refrain. 

Lydia  spread  for  herself  a  pallet  beside  the 
crib,  bidding  Juno  do  the  same  in  the  hall. 

I  slept,  and  dreamed  that  Revilo  had  returned 
untouched  by  a  bullet.  In  my  joy  I  extended 
my  arms  and  clasped  my  husband  round  his  neck. 
I  awoke  !  He  had  returned  ;  and,  without  rous 
ing  maid  or  nurse,  was  actually  leaning  over  me, 
listening  to  my  murmur  of  joy. 

I  am  sure  that  similar  scenes  took  place  all 
over  Siberty  County  that  fair  Sunda)^,  when,  for 
the  first  time,  many  men  and  boys  faced  belching 
cannon. 

In  feverish  expectancy  we  awaited  our  news 
paper.  The  columns  were  full  of  accounts  of  the 
bombarding  of  Fort  Sumter.  Later  news  came 
of  bloodshed  elsewhere.  The  paper  reported, 
also,  "  Yankees  and  Rebels  are  at  it  like  cats  and 
dogs." 


The  Old  South.  165 

Southerners  firmly  believed  that  England,  our 
"mother  country,"  would  interfere.  To  prevent 
a  cotton  famine  in  her  land  she  must  interpose. 
And  though  many  wails  of  distress  arose  in  Lan 
cashire,  and  other  English  factory-districts,  not 
a  finger  did  Great  Britain  lift.  We  soon  realised 
that  we  had  to  rely  solely  upon  ourselves  and  our 
own  meagre  resources. 

Battle  succeeded  battle.  The  Monitor  and 
Merrimac  had  their  say  ; — defeat,  victory,  cannon, 
and  soldiers  changed  positions. 

History  has  shown  that  the  most  bitter  and 
also  the  most  hopeful  in  this  unnatural  strife 
were  women.  Lydia  could  not  be  reconciled  to 
her  master  going  to  the  front.  And  when,  owing 
to  failing  sight,  he  was  ordered  home,  no  one 
rejoiced  more  than  she  at  his  return  to  Swansea. 

It  is  a  well-known  fact  that  southern  officers 
and  men  went  to  camp  attended  by  one  or  more 
of  their  slaves.  Chim  sent  Marlborough  with  her 
brother  Fleming,  a  captain  of  cavalry  ;  she  hoped 
that  the  change  of  scene  and  excitement  of  army 
life  would  rouse  him  from  the  lethargy  into  which 
he  had  lapsed  after  Lydia's  marriage  in  the 
nursery.  His  assistant,  Amos,  Lily's  eldest  son, 
enjoyed  the  tramp,  tramp  of  soldiers  and  the 
beating  of  drums,  and  his  merry  whistle  sounded 
in  the  woods  where  his  master's  horses  were  teth- 


1 66  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

ered.  Flourishing  an  old  cavalry  pistol,  minus  a 
lock,  he  was  more  self-important  than  the  general 
in  command.  Many  messages  reached  his  girl  at 
home:  "Don't  be  dancin'  wid  no  'count  fellows, 
'fore  long  we  is  goin'  ter  lick  de  Yankees,  den  I'll 
come  wid  a  cockade  in  my  hat.  You'll  be  proud 
ter  hang  on  ter  de  arm  of  a  real  live  soldier." 


The  Old  South.  167 


XIV. 
An  Indian  War  Dance. 

"  Wherefore  I  hold  him  best  at  ease 
That  lives  content  with  his  estate." 

RICHARD  CARLETON. 

SHERMAN'S  onward  march  to  the  sea  made 
it  necessary  for  us  to  quit  Swansea :  par 
tial  blindness  would  not  protect  Revilo  from 
capture.  We,  therefore,  left  Maria  and  her  hus 
band  Will  in  charge  of  our  house  and  its  effects. 

Lydia  hurriedly  packed  two  trunks,  and  we  left 
for  Mason,  where  my  sisters  had  gone  for  safety. 
Then  the  plantation  negroes,  with  their  master 
(he  the  only  white  person)  started  through  the 
country  for  western  Georgia. 

In  Revilo's  heart  there  was  no  thought  of  fear 
to  intensify  the  hardships  of  camping  at  night. 
His  so-called  "  driven  slaves  "  guarded  and  cared 
for  him  with  tenderness. 

In  a  wild  and  barren  section  they  settled  a 
home.  Cutting  down  young  pines,  they  peeled 


1 68  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

off  the  outer  bark,  under  which  were  often  found 
the  deadly  chaintail  scorpion. 

To  shelter  a  large  force  was  no  easy  matter, 
and  building  cabins  without  even  one  nail  made 
the  labour  more  difficult.  Merrily  singing  round 
a  blazing  log-heap,  women  and  boys  whittled 
wooden  pins, — as  substitutes  for  nails.  Clap 
boards  were  then  skilfully  hung  one  over  another 
on  rough-hewn  pine-rafters. 

In  that  country  a  fire-brick  had  never  been 
seen,  yet  each  cabin  needed  to  have  a  chimney. 
These  were  built  of  sticks  and  daubed  with  clay, 
in  real  pine-hut  fashion.  Snugly  housed,  our  ne 
groes  joyfully  undertook  to  build  a  larger  cabin 
for  me  their  absent  mistress,  their  master  en 
couraging  them  to  use  their  best  skill. 

Alas !  window  glass  was  as  scarce  as  nails. 
One  small  opening  in  the  side  had  before  it  a 
wooden-pinned  clapboard  shutter.  A  door  simi 
larly  constructed  hung  on  wooden  hinges,  its 
only  inside  fastening,  an  oaken  latch,  controlled 
by  a  swaying  cotton  cord  from  the  outside. 

Revilo  now  wrote,  asking  us  to  leave  Mason  for 
our  future  home. 

To  me  it  had  been  a  joy  to  see  my  sisters  safe, 
and  Lydia  was  jubilant  at  meeting  Old  Soul  and 
many  of  the  children  of  her  former  fellow -labour 
ers,  who  were  removed  to  Mason  for  safety. 


The  Old  South.  169 

Chim,  with  her  little  son,  was  there,  and  Letha, 
too,  with  her  fatherless  infant. 

On  Saturday  night  before  we  left,  a  sad  occur 
rence  spread  a  gloom  over  every  one.  A  negro  lad 
with  a  blind  eye  and  partly  deaf,  was  shot  while 
stealing  potatoes  from  a  one-legged  soldier  ; 
these  yams  were  all  the  soldier  had  to  keep  wife 
and  children  from  starving. 

Israel  the  lad  told,  on  his  deathbed,  how  a 
black  man  gave  him  a  Confederate  bill  to  help 
him  fill  a  bag  at  the  potato  bank.  "  Beg  de  Lord 
ter  pardon  you,  Israel,"  Lydia  pleaded.  "  Mars 
C.  C.  say  when  we  is  in  earnest  de  God  in  heaven 
hears  we  cry." 

The  wounded  boy  replied :  "  I  is,  aunt  Lyddy. 
I  is  so  sorry.  Don't  you  'member  how  Sam'l 
call  de  Lord,  an'  he  answer,  '  Here  is  me, 
Sam'l?'" 

The  spark  of  divine  truth,  grasped  by  him  in  the 
wash-house  Sunday-school,  led  him  to  the  foot 
of  the  cross.  Tuesday,  in  a  drizzling  rain  that 
froze  into  sparkling  crystals  on  the  trees,  his 
body  was  borne  to  the  graveyard  in  a  rude  pine 
coffin,  blackened  with  diluted  soot.  Frank,  the 
watchman,  was  not  there,  but  a  coloured  Baptist 
preacher  offered  a  prayer,  with  words  of  warning 
to  his  young  companions  who  peered  into  the 
yawning  grave. 


i;o  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

The  next  day  we  started  for  the  pineland 
home,  where  the  season  of  planting  corn  was  at 
its  height.  The  negroes  often  asked,  "  How  will 
missy  live  in  de  log-pen,  not  so  good  as  de  poor 
est  cabin  at  Green  Forest  or  Swansea?  " 

On  Thursday,  after  a  wearisome  drive  of  four 
teen  miles  over  a  sandy  road,  we  neared  our  des 
tination.  Shadows  dim  and  dimmer  outlined 
themselves  as  the  wind  lazily  sighed  in  pine 
needles  overhead. 

In  a  tumble-down  vehicle,  the  jogging  trot  of 
two  mules  lulled  our  party  into  sleepy  uncon 
sciousness.  Dick  roused  himself  occasionally,  to 
cluck  to  his  stubborn  team.  Lydia  nodded,  with 
"  her  baby  boy  "  in  her  arms,  forgetting  that  she 
would  soon  see  her  husband.  Turning  a  sharp 
curve  in  the  country  road,  a  dazzling  glare  sud 
denly  roused  us  from  dreams  and  reveries. 

"  Indians  !  "  I  cried,  muffling  my  voice  ;  "  there 
are  a  tribe  of  Indians  dancing  their  war  dance. 
See !  their  feathers  are  waving  above  the  flaming 
torches!  Turn  quickly,  Dick,  and  drive  for  your 
life.  If  they  see  us,  we  will  all  be  scalped.  Oh  ! 
why  did  we  leave  Swansea?  We  would  have 
been  better  treated  by  the  Yankees  than  by  these 
wild  devils." 

Lydia  leaned  out  of  one  window  ;  her  master 
out  the  other ;  while  our  tired  mules  stood  stock- 


The  Old  South.  171 

still,  backing  their  long  ears,  their  tails  upright  in 
fright  over  such  an  unusual  sight.  A  shout  rent 
the  air  as  the  smoke  lifted  ;  and  as  the  fantastic 
dancers  caught  a  glimpse  of  our  carriage,  they 
shot  forward. 

Lydia  screamed,  "  Ain't  no  Injins ;  it's  we 
people.  Dey  is  Uncle  Sawney  wid  a  burnin' 
light'ood  knot.  Wake  up,  my  'baby-boy,'  we 
niggars  is  come  ter  welcome  deir  little  massa." 
Joyous  as  a  school-girl,  she  greeted  one  after  the 
other. 

In  concert,  the  negroes  then  joined  in  a  favourite 
plantation-song : 

"Come  love,  come, 
De  boat  lies  low, 
She  lies  high  an'  dry 
On  de  Ohio." 

At  the  new  cabin,  women  lifted  me  through  its 
door.  No  room  ever  looked  more  attractive. 
Upon  its  rough-hewn  log  floor,  covered  with  dry 
wire  grass,  was  stretched  a  carpet,  the  pattern 
identical  with  one  at  Swansea.  On  the  clay- 
daubed  wall  hung  two  familiar  pictures.  Pine 
logs  blazed  and  snapped,  and  on  each  side  of  the 
large  fire-place  stood  two  empty  rocking-chairs 
and  a  child's  arm-chair. 

Ephraim    never   could    be   likened   to  an  un- 


172  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

turned  cake  before  that  blaze  ;  for,  in  self-defense, 
he  would  shift  his  position. 

The  sweet  perfume  of  roses  makes  one  confi 
dent  that  roses  are  near ;  so,  at  this  unexpected 
sight  of  rocking-chairs,  carpet  and  pictures,  I 
knew  love  and  devotion  surrounded  us.  Our 
negroes  left  Swansea  in  a  desperate  hurry,  ex- 
pecting  daily  the  arrival  of  the  enemy.  Revilo 
afterward  told  me  that  it  was  with  difficulty  he 
could  make  them  put  essential  food  and  clothing 
into  the  wagons,  so  determined  they  were  that 
their  absent  mistress  should  have  a  few  of  her 
former  comforts.  Under  these  trying  and  unusual 
circumstances  their  actions  left  no  doubt  of  their 
true  devotion. 

Lydia  named  this  home  Pine  Knot,  because 
the  clapboard  door  was  covered  with  rough  knots. 
One  room  was  furnished  as  parlour  and  dining- 
room,  with  a  rude  pine  table,  pinned  together  with 
wooden  pins ;  placed  around  it  were  benches 
similar  to  aunt  Sallie's  Sunday-school  seat  ;  not, 
indeed,  ever  likely  to  make  one  loiter  in  the  hope 
of  courses, — not  to  be  served.  A  frisky  young 
mule's  heels  had  shattered  a  barrel  of  china,  packed 
at  Swansea ;  we,  therefore,  now  used  blue  plates, 
brown  cups,  and  white  saucers :  each,  too,  of 
different  shape,  and  belonging  mostly  to  Lydia 
and  Juno. 


The  Old  South.  173 

Outward  appearances  mattered  little  to  us,  so 
long  as  our  appetites  were  appeased.  Of  water 
and  wood  there  was  no  lack.  Dried  blackberry 
and  strawberry  leaves,  steeped,  supplied  us  with 
tea.  Juno  brewed  coffee  from  parched  rye  and 
acorn  kernels.  Lydia  made  "  her  boy's  "  tea  of 
milk  and  water,  without  sugar. 

This,  in  truth,  embittered  her  against  the  Yan 
kees  more  than  ever. 

With  Confederate  money,  bank-notes,  and  even 
gold  we  could  not  procure  necessary  food ;  nor 
yet  raiment.  We  did  grow  sufficient  corn,  or 
maize,  to  ward  the  wolf  from  our  door  ;  yet  with 
neither  salt  nor  soda,  and  very  little  butter,  food 
was  tasteless.  Sawney  churned  what  butter  we 
did  have,  by  shaking  a  black  bottle  up  and  down, 
till  the  thin  milk  from  our  wire-grass-fed  cow  con 
gealed  or  thickened  into  a  white,  frothy  substance. 
Even  the  keenest  appetite  found  dry  cornbread 
tasteless,  served  as  it  was  three  times  daily,  ac 
companied  but  seldom  with  a  rasher  of  poor, 
smelly  bacon.  Without  salt  in  a  hot  climate, 
beef  would  not  keep.  Like  the  Indians,  we 
"  jerked  it." 

Juno  did  her  best  in  the  kitchen,  grumbling 
meanwhile  because  the  Yankees  did  not  let  her 
have  soda  ;  her  master,  she  said,  always  paid  cash 
for  what  he  bought.  Simple-hearted  Juno !  The 


174  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

restrictions  of  a  blockade  were  too  profound  for 
her  untutored  mind.  My  limited  knowledge  of 
chemistry,  however,  added  greatly  to  Juno's  hap 
piness,  when  I  showed  her  how  to  lighten  corn- 
bread  with  corn-cob  ashes.  The  thought  is  sug 
gestive  of  grit,  I  admit,  yet  the  alkaline  liquid, 
mixed  with  a  watery  butter-milk,  greatly  improved 
the  corn-bread. 

At  the  first  experiment  Juno  screamed  with  de 
light,  calling,  "  Ma,  you  an'  aunt  Clarinda  jes 
come  an'  peep  in  de  oven  ;  de  corn  bread  is  a 
spillin'  over  de  pan." 

She  could  scarcely  wait  till  the  browning,  so 
great  was  her  desire  to  sample  the  loaf.  Poultry 
required  time  to  multiply,  of  course,  and  ours, 
also,  were  too  well  bred  to  sleep  in  log  coops, 
preferring  tree-limbs  instead.  The  pine  forest 
was  alive  with  hawks  and  owls,  and  so,  while  they 
feasted  on  poultry,  we  ate  dry  bread.  "  Frizzle- 
top,"  one  of  our  finest  hens,  made  for  herself  a 
nest  on  the  earthen  floor  of  our  dairy.  I  kept  a 
strict  account  of  her  eggs,  but  day  after  day  one 
disappeared. 

Lydia  then  took  the  matter  in  hand.  She  was 
determined  to  find  out  who  was  stealing  these 
eggs,  suspecting  her  son  Edward. 

Howls  from  behind  her  cabin,  and  a  broken 
birch  flourishing  in  her  hand,  later  told  the  story. 


The  Old  South.  175 

"  I  sees  yaller  marks  'bout  your  mouth  !  Is  you 
forgot  how  Israel  is  all  turned  ter  decompose,  all 
caise  he  took  potatoes  what  wa'n't  his.  I  means 
ter  t'rash  you  eb'ry  time  you  eats  an  aigg." 

"  Ma,  I's  innocent,"  protested  the  boy,  "  you 
ask  missy  if  I  eat  dem  aiggs.  She  has  eyes  all 
round  her  head,  an'  sees  eb'ry  blessed  t'ing  I 
does." 

But  Lydia  was  unconvinced. 

The  mystery  was  solved,  however,  when  Dick 
killed,  near  the  dairy,  a  house-snake,  and,  sever 
ing  it,  in  the  centre,  out  burst  an  egg  in  perfect 
shell,  with  another  partly  digested. 

Edward  clapped  his  hands  with  delight,  saying  : 
"  It's  always  so.  I  gits  all  de  lickin' ;  de  snake  de 
good  eatin'.  " 

Food  was  not  our  only  want ;  for  scarcely  a  day 
passed  but  some  one  asked,  "  When  is  we  ter  git 
new  clothes  ?  " 

"  Missy,"  Caesar  said,  "  my  old  'oman  Chloe 
is  patch  an'  patch ;  now  she's  cut  off  my  coat- 
tail  fer  seat  my  breeches.  All  my  life  I's  been 
a  ladies'  man ;  de  best  beau  on  de  place ;  but 
now  I's  shame  fer  go  'mongst  de  gals  ;  dey  laughs 
at  my  coat  widout  any  tail,  an'  my  cowhides  wid 
cypress  soles  makes  such  a  racket,  folks  is  got  no 
chance  ter  steal  a  kiss." 

Not  a  negro  woman  at  Pine  Knot  understood 


176  Lyddy:  A  Tale  of 

the  art  of  carding  and  spinning,  nor  yet  of  weav 
ing.  We  therefore  engaged  Mrs.  Johns,  "  a 
cracker  "  living  near  by,  to  come  and  teach  Juno 
and  others. 

The  term  "  cracker  " — applied  to  poor  whites — 
comes  from  their  habit  of  walking  beside  small 
carts  cracking  a  long  whip.  And  no  greater  in 
sult  could  be  offered  to  a  negro  than  to  compare 
him  to  a  "  poor  cracker."  "  Buckra,"  meaning 
rich  white  folks,  originated  in  Africa,  where  Mun- 
go  Park  was  called  by  the  natives  the  "  good 
buckra  man." 

We  were  fortunate  in  being  able  to  get  two 
pairs  of  cards  and  a  spinning  wheel.  But  money 
could  not  obtain  a  loom  ;  no  one  would  part  with 
theirs.  Pine-land  crackers  suddenly  found  a 
market  for  home-woven  cloth. 

Unable  to  buy  a  loom,  then,  our  only  recourse 
seemed  to  be  that  of  making  one.  This  we  did  ; 
first,  by  constructing  a  miniature  model  in  corn 
stalks,  pinned  together  with  lightwood  splinters, 
instead  of  nails  or  tacks.  Our  carpenter  was  not 
skilled  in  work  outside  the  usual  line  of  planta 
tion  cabin-building,  but,  with  failures  and  trials, 
we  did,  eventually,  get  a  loom,  with  all  its  intri 
cate  trappings.  Possessed  of  a  loom,  with  hanks 
upon  hanks  of  homespun  cotton-thread,  we  were 
yet  as  far  from  the  art  of  weaving  cloth  as  ever. 


The  Old  South.  177 

Mrs.  Johns,  in  consideration  of  a  roll  of  paper 
money,  came  to  give  Juno  her  first  lesson, — siz 
ing  the  thread. 

Having  dismounted  and  tethered  her  "  critter," 
she  left  it  to  graze  on  wire-grass  ;  she  then  threw 
back  over  her  shoulders  the  front  ends  of  a  three- 
cornered  shawl,  worn  persistently  on  the  hottest 
day  in  summer  or  on  the  coldest  in  winter.  Her 
split-board  bonnet,  tied  under  her  chin,  went,  with 
one  shove,  to  the  "waterfall  "  of  her  hair,  disclos 
ing  a  leathery  thick  skin.  It  was  of  the  same 
dirty  sallow  colour  of  all  "cracker"  women 
throughout  the  country,  although  these  sun-pro 
tectors  should  have  ensured  a  fair  complexion  ; 
for  they  are  never  removed  except  to  be  supplant 
ed  by  a  nightcap. 

Juno  was  on  a  broad  grin  during  the  entire 
lesson  ;  for  "  crackers "  were  unaccustomed  to 
servants. 

"  Gin  I  come  ag'in  be  you  sure  ter  have  these 
cob-spools  well  covered  !  "  said  Mrs.  Johns. 

Alas,  when  she  came  the  second  time  no  reel 
had  been  burned  through  the  center. 

"  You  stupid,  dingy,  black,  ginger-coloured  nig- 
gars,"  she  said,  with  a  scowl,  "  didn't  you  know 
dose  cobs  had  ter  go  on  ter  de  warpin'  bars?  " 

We  did  not. 

The  cabin  that  was  built  for  the  loom  was  now 

12 


1 78  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

a  place  of  great  interest.  Day  after  day  we 
watched  the  cloth  increase,  the  click,  click,  of  a 
hand-swung  shuttle  making  novel  and  unusual 
music.  Juno,  happily,  manifested  such  excellence 
in  weaving  that  she  left  the  kitchen  to  reign 
supreme  at  the  loom. 

Our  negroes  were  not  alone  in  their  needs ;  for 
our  own  garments  showed  the  wear  and  tear  of 
time.  Ten,  twenty,  fifty-dollar  Confederate  bills 
were  plentiful ;  but  no  paper  signed  by  Jefferson 
Davis,  and  guaranteed  by  his  government,  could, 
alas,  cover  protruding  elbows  and  knees. 

Our  slaves  fared  better  than  we  ;  they  still  had 
frocks  of  Green  Forest's  dead  mistress  for  Sunday 
clothes.  And  how  they  delighted  to  flaunt  their 
flounces  on  festive  occasions  !  This  habit,  too,  of 
giving  to  them  half-worn  gowns  enhanced,  doubt 
less,  their  love  for  furbelows  and  gewgaws.  Mid 
dle-aged  negro  women  always  laid  aside  one  gown 
to  be  used  as  a  burial  robe.  Nothing  could  re 
voke  the  doom  when  once  a  dress  was  dedicated 
to  the  tomb. 

Chloe's  thrift  in  patching  her  husband's  gar 
ments  suggested  to  me  the  idea  of  renovating  my 
worn  sleeves  and  bodices.  Like  the  last  rose  of 
summer,  one  Sunday  frock  now  hung  alone  on  a 
wooden  peg  of  our  clay-daubed  wall.  The  attic 
a';  Swansea  could  have  supplied  me  with  many 


The  Old  South.  179 

beautiful  bits,  had  the  house  and  all  it  contained 
been  other  than  a  heap  of  ashes. 

On  Lydia's  cabin-cleaning  day,  she  spread  all 
her  belongings  upon  the  grass  to  sun. 

Surprised,  I  asked,  "  Have  you  that  byadier  silk 
dress  yet?"  "  I  have  never  seen  you  wear  it." 

"  No  ma'am  ;  I's  never  put  it  on ;  it's  my  bu'ial 
robe." 

"  Lydia,  it's  just  the  thing  to  make  my  old  gray 
silk  perfect.  I'll  give  you  a  new  one-hundred  dol 
lar  Confederate  bill  for  it." 

"  Uncle  Toby,  what  knows,  says  ef  you  changes 
your  mind  'bout  coffin-clothes  you'll  sure  ter  die. 
Please,  missy,  don't  ask  me  fer  it  ;  I  ain't  ready  ter 
leave  '  my  baby  boy  ;  '  he  couldn't  get  along  wid- 
out  his  mommer." 

Neatly  folded,  the  byadier  dress  was  put  into 
her  chest,  with  an  old  English  inlaid  snuff-box  her 
mother  had  left  her,  an  heirloom  of  her  master, 
Squire  Jameston. 

Orchards  blossomed  into  full  leaf  again  ;  winter 
birds  cast  their  sombre  hues ;  and  their  brilliant 
plumage  flashed  in  the  sun.  Thus,  nature  seemed 
making  ready  to  join  in  a  glad  Easter  morning. 

More  than  one  southern  woman  that  Easter 
tide  sighed  over  her  inability  to  wear  a  new  gown 
on  Easter  Sunday.  In  the  first  part  of  Holy 
week  Dick  and  his  master  drove  to  Halby.  On 


i8o  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

their  return,  forgetting  his  tired  mules,  stamping 
at  the  gate,  Dick  awaited  the  opening  of  a  store- 
bundle  he  had  deposited  upon  the  dining-room 
table  :  "  It's  feryou,  missy,"  he  said,  and  his  wide 
spread  mouth  showed  his  delight. 

"  Ten  yards  of  heavy  Osnaburg  for  me  !  "  I 
exclaimed,  showing  as  great  joy  as  a  child  over 
its  first  wax  doll.  "You  paid  sixty  dollars  a  yard  ! 
What  a  lovely  gift !  "  That  Easter  Sunday  birds 
and  flowers  had  a  rival  in  our  log  church. 

Lydia  never  gave  her  daughter  any  peace  until 
there  was  cloth  woven  for  a  new  suit  for  her 
master.  It  was  made  of  wool  drawn  from  the 
edge  of  our  mattress — cotton  put  in  its  place. 
A  concoction,  made  of  herbs,  dyed  the  warp 
and  woof  a  brown  tint.  Five  women  kept  this 
secret. 

One  Saturday  night  new  trousers,  waistcoat,  and 
coat  hung  on  a  wooden  pin,  in  place  of  thread 
bare  garments. 

A  spirit  of  friendly  jealousy  arose  the  next  day 
at  church,  when  the  home-made  garments  were 
examined,  much  to  the  annoyance  of  the  wearer, 
who  vowed  never  to  don  another  home-made 
suit.  Paying,  as  we  did,  six  hundred  dollars  for 
one  dress,  is  it  surprising  that  pockets  were  empty 
of  both  handkerchiefs  and  gloves?  It  seemed 
fashionable  to  be  without  them. 


The  Old  South.  181 

Hair-pins  were  as  few  as  hairs  upon  "  Uncle 
Ned's  head." 

Finding  a  bit  of  wire,  our  negro  men  bent  and 
ground  it  into  shape,  giving  Lydia  the  pleasure 
of  presenting  me  with  a  dozen  hair  pins  ;  hand 
made  and  most  valuable,  it  is  true,  but  pulling 
uncomfortably  my  hair.  Needles  and  pins  were 
scarce,  and  a  diamond  brooch  seemed  not  more 
valuable  than  a  steel  needle,  capable  of  dragging 
after  it,  through  hand-loom  cloth,  a  length  of 
home-spun  thread. 

Lydia's  next  ambition  was  to  have  fine  material 
woven  for  "  her  boy's"  first  knee-pants. 

With  a  goose-quill  dipped  into  soot,  previously 
mixed  with  molasses,  we  wrote  letters  on  scraps 
of  wall  paper,  thus  keeping  in  touch  with  sorrow 
ing  friends.  At  that  date  nearly  every  one  was 
weeping  for  some  kinsman.  Envelopes  we  cut 
from  the  same  figured  paper,  and  sealed  them 
with  gum  that  had  exuded  from  peach  or  plum- 
trees.  There  was  not  a  spoonful  of  flour  in  our 
larder  for  paste,  nor  for  food. 

Newspapers  reached  us  occasionally,  printed 
on  the  reverse  side  of  the  same  nondescript  flow 
ered  wall-paper. 

Housewives  of  the  south  daily  taxed  their 
ingenuity  to  supply  immediate  wants.  They 


1 82  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

were  allied  to  their  sisters,  the  five  foolish  virgins, 
having  no  oil  for  lamps. 

A  burning  resinous  pine-knot  seemed  our  only 
way  of  dispelling  the  darkness  of  night.  In  Au 
gust,  too !  Sawney  gained  permission  to  go  to  the 
sea-coast,  where  he  boiled  hard  berries  of  the  sea- 
myrtle,  and,  to  our  delight,  returned  with  a  fine 
cake  of  sea-green  wax.  Not  a  neighbour  possessed 
a  candle-mould  ;  and,  of  course,  workers  in  tin 
were  at  the  front,  baring  their  breasts  to  cannon 
balls. 

We  dipped  yard-lengths  of  twisted  cotton- 
thread  into  this  melted  wax,  and,  when  ready  to 
light  it,  wound  it  round  the  neck  of  a  black 
bottle,  one  end  erect.  This  served  for  candle  and 
candle-stick. 

The  friction  of  flint  and  steel  took  the  place  of 
matches. 

Peruvian  bark  from  swamps  gave  us  needed 
quinine. 

Every  one  planted  poppies,  the  creamy  juice 
exuding  from  green  seed-pods  when  pierced,  be 
ing  really  opium  in  its  crude  state.  The  per 
fumed  leaves  of  the  Queen  of  flowers  we  gath 
ered  for  druggists'  compounds. 

The  Government  allowed  but  one  physician  to 
every  twenty  square  miles,  and,  as  may  be  sup- 
posed,  he  was  in  great  demand.  Indeed,  a  messen- 


The  Old  South  183 

ger  for  one  often  travelled  in  vain  from  house  to 
house. 

There  was  little  medicine  save  concoctions 
made  from  herbs,  the  component  parts  of  which 
southern  women  soon  learned  to  know. 

Nothing  was  wasted ;  salt  brine  even,  from 
fish  or  meat,  was  boiled  and  clarified  with  egg 
shells.  This  process  precipitated  a  fine  salt, 
much  prized  for  table  use. 

Our  teeth  decayed  indiscriminately.  Den 
tists  were  in  the  army.  Sufferers  endured  hours 
of  anguish,  their  faces  muffled  in  scorched  cotton. 

Negroes  will  not  bear  toothache.  A  tooth 
that  ached  had  to  be  extracted. 

And  so  Sawney,  when  hurriedly  leaving  Swan 
sea,  put  into  the  wagon  a  massive  pair  of  forceps. 

When  Lydia  heard  that  Sawney  was  about  to 
extract  a  great  molar,  she  was  always  present 
with  her  little  master,  to  see  the  fun  and  give 
advice : 

"  Be  sure  you  stick  dat  tooth  in  de  chim 
ney-jam,  else  your  truck  patch  ain't  no  'count  fer 
peas  or  beans,  caise  Bro'  Toby  say  it's  de  Gospel 
truth  dat  Bro'  Rabbit  an'  Bro'  Wolf  once  on  a 
time  had  a  big  quarrel  'bout  teeth.  Bro'  Wolf, 
grinnin',  laughed  at  Bro'  Rabbit's  little  teeth." 

"  Den  Bro'  Rabbit  he  squat  on  he  hind  legs  an' 
answer:  'You  needn't  be  a-braggin'.  If  I's  a 


1 84  Lyddy:  A  Tale  of 

min*  ter,  I  kin  show  teeth  bigger  dan  you 
has. ' " 

'"You  stuck-up  w'ite-tail  varmin,'  said  Bro' 
Wolf, '  fer  eb'ry  tooth  bigger  dan  mine  you  bring 
me' — an'  he  open  he  jaw  wide — '  I'll  pull  out  a 
palin'  in  a  truck  patch  so  you  kin  eat  a  good 
supper.' 

"  Bro'  Rabbit  found  lots  of  nigger  teeth  in  de 
trash  heap  'long  side  de  cabin  ;  so  deir  was  many 
a  truck  patch  eat  up  of  nights." 

The  art  of  tanning  leather  was  not  understood 
in  the  south,  but  inasmuch  as  negroes  could  work 
well  and  comfortably  without  shoes,  they  felt  no 
deprivation  in  having  to  go  without  foot-wear. 
But  hats  they  must  have,  to  protect  them  from  a 
broiling  summer  sun.  It  was  then  by  a  happy 
chance  that  we  discovered  that  wire-grass  was 
suitable  for  this  need. 

Lydia,  too,  recalled  having  seen  her  old 
mother  Nancy  steep  the  ends  of  a  gobbler's  tail 
in  hot  water,  after  threading  them  in  the  order 
in  which  they  grew.  The  softened  quills  were 
then  easily  compressed,  and  spread  into  fan- 
shape. 

This  luxury  we  greatly  needed  in  our  log 
church,  where  Sunday  after  Sunday  we  listened 
to  two  sermons,  each  an  hour  long.  Many  a  day 
the  thermometer  would  have  registered  ninety- 


The  Old  South.  185 

nine  and  a  half  degrees  in  the  shade,  had  we  had 
such  a  thing. 

Our  one  young  gobbler  at  Pine  Knot,  who 
seemed  as  fond  of  a  strut  as  a  Hyde  Park  beau, 
now  stalked  or  circled  about  his  hens  just  as 
bravely  without  his  appendage.  His  tail  did  sacri 
ficial  duty  in  church  ;  getting  me,  too,  into  un 
measured  trouble.  For,  thereafter,  messenger 
after  messenger  came  to  Pine  Knot  with  turkey 
feathers,  saying,  "  Missy  is  pull  out  we  gobbler 
tail ;  she  say  won't  you  make  um  into  a  fan  gin 
next  Sunday?  " 

At  other  times  the  quills  were  sent  with  a  strip 
of  wall  paper  attached.  It  read :  "  So  sorry  to 
trouble  you.  I  have  done  my  best  and  failed  ; 
please,  will  you  finish  this  fan,  for  your  loving 
friend  ?  " 

Love-work  does  not  always  pay.  The  more 
considerate,  however,  sent  me  either  a  brace  of 
partridges, — caught  in  a  trap, — a  bit  of  home- 
tanned  sheep-skin,  or  a  comb  of  wild  honey. 

No  one,  it  is  true,  at  this  period,  was  wearing 
silken  gloves  of  ease. 

How  great  a  thing  it  is  not  to  be  miserable 
when  skies  grow  black,  and  to  be  content  with 
one's  lot ! 


1 86  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 


XV. 
The  Parson's  Dagger. 

"Grief  and  joy  and  hope  and  fear 
Play  their  pageants  everywhere." 

LYDIA  looked  forward  to  the  arrival  of  the 
post  with  breathless  interest.     The  news 
papers  gave    detailed   lists    of  killed   and 
wounded.  "T'ankGod  Mars  Flem's  name  is  not 
deir,"  she  exclaimed  more  than  once,  "  but  don't 
you  t'ink  it's  strange  dey  neber  says  one  word 
'bout  Bro'  Molbro?     I  reckon  he  must  be  well,  or 
dey  would  put  his  name  down  too." 

Letters  from  our  brother,  the  captain,  in  Vir 
ginia,  often  deplored  the  despondent  moods  that 
still  oppressed  Marlborough.  He  offered  to  let 
him  return  home,  but  his  faithful  servant  refused, 
lest  his  master  should  be  ill  or  wounded.  No  word 
or  message  came  for  Lydia ;  and  this  she  could 
not  understand.  Handing  me  letters  received 
months  before,  she  would  say,  "  Read  dese  ag'in, 
missy."  "  Read  it  careful,  caise  deir  ought  ter  be 


The  Old  South.  187 

one  word  fer  me.  Sure  Bro'  Molbro  ain't  forgot 
me  when  I  prays  fer  him  eb'ry  night." 

Owing  to  his  solemn  demeanor  in  camp  Marl- 
borough  was  known  as  the  "  Parson."  No  one 
had  ever  seen  him  spread  his  mouth  save  in  a 
kind  of  half-smile.  Two  soldiers  started  a  rumour 
that  "  the  parson  "  carried  in  his  waistcoat  front 
a  picture  that  he  often  kissed. 

A  picket  squad,  lazily  joking  around  a  camp 
fire,  waiting  for  active  duty,  authorized  themselves 
to  ferret  out  this  secret  ;  for,  no  trophy,  no  senti 
ment,  was  too  sacred  among  such  a  set  of  men. 
The  deputized  band  surrounded  "  the  parson," 
and  demanded  the  contents  of  his  vest  pockets. 

Feeling  sure  that  his  refusal  would  be  followed 
by  force,  Marlborough,  like  a  Chesterfield,  with 
drew  his  military  coat  and  his  waistcoat,  handing 
them  to  a  sergeant.  His  look  of  pain  half  inclined 
the  officer  to  return  the  garments  unsearched. 
Curiosity,  however,  screwed  to  its  highest  pitch, 
must  needs  be  satisfied  ;  nor  could  they  forego 
the  fun  of  examining  his  pockets.  The  sergeant, 
who  had  received  the  waistcoat,  turned  one  pocket 
after  another  wrongside  out. 

From  the  first  tumbled  a  jack-knife,  with  but  a 
fragment  of  blade  ;  from  the  next,  a  roll  of  paper 
wrapped  about  a  broken  darning  needle. 

"  You  don't  mend  clothes  with  this,"  said  one 


1 88  Lyddy:  A  Tale  of 

man.  "  Why,  it's  rusty  and  broken  ;  looks  too 
as  if  it  came  out  of  the  Ark.  Is  this  the  picture 
you've  been  kissing?"  and  he  unfolded  the 
paper, 

"  See  here,  boys,  '  the  parson  '  is  partial  to 
hoopskirts,"  laughed  the  sergeant. 

"  There's  another  pocket  in  the  lining,"  and  a 
soldier  stepped  forward,  tapping  the  waistcoat.  As 
he  pulled  the  lining  out,  there  sparkled  in  the 
sunlight  a  plain  gold  ring,  held  in  place  by  strong 
stitches. 

"  L-y-d-i-a,  Lydia  !  That's  the  lettering  inside  ! 
Hurrah,  hurrah,  boys!  Now  we  have  the  name 
of  his  gal  !  Lydia !  Was  it  she  who  sold  purple 
and  fine  linen,  according  to  Bible  accounts? 
Parson,  is  your  Lydia  young  ?  Aren't  you  afraid 
she'll  forget  you  while  you're  soldiering?" 

"  Stop,  boys,  don't  tease  him.  I've  a  fellow- 
feeling  for  him,  because  it  may  be  the  ring  of  a 
dead  wife.  I'm  a  widower,  too,  parson ;  but 
don't  you  despair,  when  you  get  home  there'll  be 
lots  of  women  glad  to  marry  you  with  your  plume 
of  victory  waving  in  your  hat.  Take  my  advice  : 
it  don't  pay  to  grieve.  Tell  me,  have  you  never 
laughed  since  your  wife  died  ?  " 

Marlborough,  with  genuine  old-fashioned  negro 
deference  for  white  persons,  stood  in  his  shirt 
sleeves  awaiting  the  return  of  his  waistcoat. 


The  Old  South.  189 

Touching  his  forelock,  he  replied:  "  T'ank  you, 
gen'men  fer  your  interest  in  me,  but  so  far  as  I 
knows  my  wife  Flora  is  still  livin'  at  Mars  Joe 
Lament's  plantation." 

One  by  one  the  frolic-loving  soldiers  sneaked 
away,  heartily  ashamed  of  having  demanded  the 
contents  of  the  "parson's"  pockets. 

General  Grant  was  then  marching  onward  to 
the  sea,  and  Sherman's  tents  whitened  our  sun- 
kissed  sea-shore.  Many  of  our  palatial  homes 
were  in  ruins,  and  the  great  pulse-throb  of  the 
Confederacy  was  growing  feeble — hope  seemed 
gasping  its  last  breath. 

Revilo,  requiring  the  skill  of  an  oculist,  left 
Pine  Knot,  to  be  gone  a  week.  He  called  Belfast, 
the  foreman,  before  starting,  and  said,  "  I  leave 
my  little  family  to  your  care." 

Torrents  of  rain  fell,  overflowing  the  creeks 
that  surrounded  our  place,  isolating  us ;  in  truth, 
our  nearest  neighbour  lived  five  miles  away. 

As  "may  be  supposed,  my  days  were  weary 
enough ;  but  the  nights,  alas,  were  absolutely 
unbearable,  with  neither  a  lamp  nor  a  book  to 
shorten  the  tedium  of  oppressive  darkness.  Sew 
ing  was  a  task,  rather  than  a  pleasure  ;  our  half- 
worn  garments  had  to  be  mended  with  home 
spun  thread ;  forced,  too,  into  the  eye  of  a  needle 
three  sizes  too  fine  ;  and  its  point  blunt.  My 


Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

gold  thimble  was  worn  into  holes  by  heavy  work, 
and  my  treasured  needle  sometimes  left  its  eye 
in  the  tip  of  my  finger,  greatly  exasperating 
me. 

Lydia  was  within  calling  distance  at  night,  yet 
she  insisted  that,  during  her  master's  absence, 
she  should  sleep  beside  "  her  boy's "  couch. 

"No  one  has  ever  molested  us;  why  should 
they  now ;  If  anything  happens,  I  will  scream 
for  you,"  said  I. 

Covering  the  chubby  hands  of  her  little  master 
with  kisses,  she  said  good-night :  "  Sleep,  baby, 
sleep  sweet,  till  mommer  comes  in  de  mo'nin'. 
I  's  a  spoonful  of  'lasses  feryour  tea." 

About  midnight  Carlo's  bark  startled  me  from 
sleep  ;  then  I  heard  stealthy  steps  advance  to 
ward  our  shrunken  wooden-pinned  door:  through 
the  crevice  the  button  within  could  easily  be 
turned. 

There  are  times  in  every  one's  life  when  seconds 
seem  quadrupled.  There  was  no  bell-rope  to 
pull ;  to  scream  would  but  increase  anxiety  by 
rousing  a  sleeping  boy.  Were  we  to  be  murdered 
in  cold  blood?  The  child,  at  least,  would  be 
spared  consciousness.  In  the  pines,  hooting 
owls  sounded  their  dismal  notes  of  wailing,  yet, 
strangely  enough,  sleep  overcame  me.  At  early 
morn  Lydia's  voice  roused  me:  "Who's  been  in 


The  Old  South.  191 

dis  cabin  wid  heavy  shoes?"  her  screams  for 
her  brother  Belfast  hurrying  our  negroes  to  the 
cabin,  eager  to  know  if  missy  was  safe. 

On  the  piazza,  by  my  door,  were  shoe-tracks 
made  by  damp  sand.  The  negroes  declared, 
"  Dese  is  Yankee  tracks  ;  none  of  we  folks  has 
such  nails  in  deir  shoes.  Bro'  Daniel  was  tellin' 
last  night  'bout  two  mens  wid  brass  buttons  in 
de  woods." 

"  I  did  see  dem ;  dey  call  ter  me ;  but  I  broke 
an'  run.  Dey  p'int  deir  guns  at  my  head." 

Sawney,  Daniel's  father,  with  a  grave  voice, 
now  spoke  :  "  Hunno  people,  don't  you  bodder 
wid  blue-coats  ;  dey  tell  too  many  lies.  I  hears 
we  is  all  ter  git  a  mule  an'  forty  acres  o*  land. 
You  know  dat's  a  lie." 

Belfast  then  snapped  the  trigger  of  an  old  gun 
that  stood  in  the  dining-room  :  "  If  I  had  a  load 
of  shot  an'  powder  I'd  show  dose  fellows  what's 
what  ;  dey  comin'  here  while  massa's  away !  " 

Lydia  spread  her  pallet  that  evening  beside  the 
bed  of  her  white  child  ;  while  I  braced  the  benches 
and  rocking-chairs  against  the  door. 

"Go  to  sleep,  missy,"  urged  Lydia,  "you'll 
wake  my  boy  ;  nobody  kin  put  der  finger  on  you 
an'  I  here." 

Her  every  word  in  childhood  was  implicitly 
believed.  But  not  now.  What  could  she  do  in 


Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

the  face  of  able-bodied  men,  as  their  shoe-tracks 
had  shown  them  to  be  ? 

Sleep  for  me  seemed  a  lost  factor.  With  un 
defined  apprehension,  I  waited.  Suddenly  I 
screamed,  "  Lydia  wake  up !  there's  a  step 
outside.  Be  quick  !  call  for  Belfast.  Oh,  God  ! 
to  be  murdered  like  this !  " 

The  nurse  raised  up  on  her  elbow,  saying, 
"  Do,  Miss  Dodo,  be  quiet !  You  know  dey  is  no 
danger  an'  I  is  here." 

I  was  beyond  her  control.  Even  ghostly  visit 
ors,  summoned  by  her  cabalistic  words,  could  not 
keep  me  quiet  now.  I  sprang  to  my  feet ;  she  too 
quickly  rose  and  tried  to  soothe  my  fears,  holding 
me  fast  in  her  arms.  "  It's  we  people,"  she  whis 
pered,  "  a  keepin'  guard ;  dey  'greed  ter  take 
hour  by  hour  till  massa  come  home." 

Imprisoned  though  we  were  by  fordless  creeks, 
we  were  still,  as  she  declared,  well  guarded  by 
slave-sentinels,  doing  voluntary  night  duty. 
Never  king  or  queen  could  boast  of  more  disin 
terested  love. 

Some  days  thereafter  each  man  received  a  gift. 

"  T'ank  you,  massa,  but  it's  not  fer  money  we 
kep'  watch,"  they  assured  Revilo.  "We  promised 
ter  take  care  of  missy,  an'  we's  done  de  best  we 
knowed  how." 

The  next  day,  at  noon,  the  front  gate  opened 


The  Old  South.  193 

and  two  men  in  blue  coats,  with  brass  buttons, 
walked  to  the  log  steps.  As  if  weary,  they  seated 
themselves.  In  a  moment  our  house-servants 
surrounded  me. 

"  What  do  you  wish  ?  "  I  asked  ;  "  are  you 
ill?" 

"  Hungry,  ma'am,  hungry,"  said  the  younger, 
both  looking  pale  and  feeble.  "  Do  give 
us  a  bit  of  bread ;  we  haven't  had  a 
morsel  since  these  nasty  creeks  over 
flowed.  This  is  the  most  God-forsaken  coun 
try  I  was  ever  in,  and  my  friend  here  is  dying, 
with  not  a  drop  of  whisky  or  medicine  to  give 
him.  Not  even  a  pinch  of  salt  to  season  what  we 
can  kill  or  steal.  There's  no  use  telling  you  a 
lie,  we  have  stolen," — he  glanced  up  to  where  a 
string  of  red  peppers  hung  against  the  logs. 
"  Some  nights  ago  we  tried  to  reach  those ; 
we  thought  they  were  onions.  There  ain't  one 
blamed  mouthful  in  this  place  to  seize,"  he  con 
tinued.  "  I'm  sure  I  can't  see  how  you  live. 
We  took  some  corn,  but  we  couldn't  grind  it." 

Juno  hastened  to  the  kitchen  and  returned 
with  what  food  there  was  cooked.  Edward, 
holding  to  his  mother's  skirt,  pointed  to  the 
heavy  boots :  "  It's  dem  what  make  de  tracks. 
Law,  dey  will  neber  wear  dose  shoes  out  till 
kingdom  come." 
13 


194  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

"  Will  you  give  us  a  few  dry  peas  ?  "  the  men 
asked,  after  having  devoured  bits  of  hard,  saltless 
cornbread. 

With  a  questioning  look  at  me  Dick  hurried 
off,  returning  with  his  hat  full. 

A  few  fell  to  the  ground.  The  soldiers  picked 
them  up,  showing  thus  their  early  training  in 
thrift.  But  Dick,  prodigal  of  his  master's  pro 
visions,  offered  to  bring  more. 

"  Thanks,  lady  ;  these  are  enough.  We've  been 
round  a  good  ways  since  Sherman  started  for  the 
sea,  and  now  know  why  our  prisoners  aren't  bet 
ter  fed.  No  one  can  blame  a  government  for 
feeding  their  wives  and  children  first.  Lady,  if 
you  could  see  my  wife  and  beautiful  little  girl  in 
Michigan,  you  wouldn't  wonder  I'm  longing  to 
get  to  them  before  I  die."  And  the  sick  man 
wept  aloud. 

At  first  Lydia's  countenance  showed  that  she 
was  indignant ;  she  was  recalling  to  mind  our 
hours  of  recent  anxiety.  But  the  tears  of  a  man, 
and  he  a  soldier,  softened  her.  "  Boss,"  said  she, 
her  voice  having  a  ring  of  tenderness,  "  boss, 
why  don't  you  go  home  ter  your  wife  an'  daugh 
ter  ;  if  I  was  you  I  wouldn't  stay  a  day  fightin' 
us." 

My  husband,  who  had  returned  the  night  be 
fore,  at  that  moment  reined  in  his  pony  at  the 


The  Old  South.  195 

gate.  He  lifted  from  his  eyes  the  blue  shade. 
What  !  Bluecoats  at  his  very  door,  surrounded 
by  his  wife  and  servants ! 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?  What's  your  business 
here  ?  "  he  demanded. 

The  soldier  replied,  "  My  friend  is  ill.  On  the 
march  from  Tomshear  we  were  obliged  to  rest  in 
the  wood,  and  so  have  strayed  from  our  corps 
and  been  without  bread  for  a  week  till  this  good 
lady  (pointing  to  Juno)  gave  us  a  hoecake. 
We've  tried,  but  couldn't  find  a  ford  to  these 
nasty  creeks." 

Revilo  knew  that  they  were  deserters.  "  Up  ! 
march  !  "  he  said  ;  "  I'll  show  you  a  ford.  Your 
corps  are  encamped  near  Hatfield.  I'll  see  you 
safely  there.  There  is  no  prison  nearer  than 
Tomshear,  or  you'd  not  have  your  liberty." 

Dick  forgot  to  lead  away  the  pony,  he  was  so 
interested  in  the  soldiers. 

Revilo  jumped  into  his  saddle  and  accom 
panied  the  two  men  through  the  pine-land  trail, 
on  to  the  turnpike.  They  were  out  of  sight  ere 
it  dawned  upon  me  the  danger  of  his  going  off 
unarmed  with  two  of  our  enemies.  By  my 
command,  Dick,  on  a  bareback  mule,  hastened  to 
the  fields  for  Belfast  and  his  men  to  go  at  once 
to  their  master's  assistance. 

Lydia  tried  to  console  me :  "  No  man    what 


1 96  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

talks  so  good  'bout  his  wife  an'  child'll  harm  our 
master.  I  do  wish  dose  blue-coats  had  neber 
come  south.  We  was  all  livin'  peaceful  an* 
happy,  wid  plenty  ter  eat,  salt  as  cheap  as  dirt. 
Now,  clothes  is  scarce ;  even  de  foreman  treads 
barefoot.  Next  t'itig  massa  an'  missy'll  have  ter 
do  de  same :  dey  livin'  ter-day  in  a  log-pen  not  fit 
fer  a  poor  '  cracker.'  I  wonder  if  Bro'  Molbro  is 
got  any  shoes?  Amos  sent  word  by  Mars  Gus' 
ole  man  Pete  dat  in  Faginia  daid  soldiers,  grey 
an'  blue,  is  lyin'  round  not  more  dan  a  foot  under 
ground.  Jackals  an'  wolfs  has  good  pickin'  o' 
nights.  He  say  on  eb'ry  side  is  big  cannons 
ready  fer  a  bomb  match  ter  belch  out  red-hot 
balls.  De  war  has  only  brought  sorrow  an'  tribi- 
lation.  I'll  be  glad  when  we  kin  go  ter  Swansea. 
If  we  beautiful  w'ite  house  is  burned  down 
massa  kin  build  anodder." 

A  few  weeks  after,  we  learned  that  Green  Forest 
was  occupied  by  a  Federal  regiment,  twelve  hun 
dred  strong.  The  general  commanded  his  men 
to  pitch  their  tents,  the  driving  of  pins  and  the 
flapping  of  canvas  making  great  confusion. 

Inanimate  nature  could  express  no  feeling,  else 
the  grey  moss,  dragged  from  the  trees  for  soldier's 
bedding,  would  have  bristled  into  needles,  and 
the  fire,  made  of  fences,  sent  forth  snakes  to 
poison  the  soldiers'  food. 


The  Old  South.  197 

At  the  family  home,  at  this  time,  was  Chim, 
with  her  son,  whose  father,  a  major,  was  stationed 
at  Vicksburg;  Letha  and  her  baby,  Lalla  a 
bride  ;  Flossie,  a  girl  of  thirteen ;  and  Sonnie, 
Nannie's  foster-child. 

During  the  war,  girls  would  marry,  although 
their  young  husbands  shouldered  guns  after  the 
ceremony,  and  returned  to  camp-life. 

The  general  with  his  staff  had  the  house  ran 
sacked,  hoping  to  find  Confederate  soldiers. 

Women  and  children  were  forced  into  one 
chamber,  while  the  officers  settled  themselves  in 
the  others,  making  the  dining-room  their  mess- 
hall,  the  parlour  their  headquarters.  The  growth 
of  months  in  the  kitchen-garden  was  consumed 
in  one  hour.  The  negroes,  too,  returning  from 
the  fields,  found  their  coops  empty,  and  every 
mouthful  of  food  in  their  cabins  gone. 

For  protection,  black  children  huddled  round 
Granny,  who  stood  in  a  doorway,  her  arms  akimbo  ; 
not  daring  to  express  her  thought — "  What 
business  has  you  blue-coats  on  we  Green 
Forest  ?  " 

A  soldier  seized  one  piccaninny  by  his  shirt,  on 
the  point  of  a  bayonet,  his  legs,  arms,  and  head 
meeting,  while  he  yelled  lustily  for  help. 

The  storeroom  likewise  was  emptied  of  the 
little  it  contained.  Affie,  old  and  feeble,  hob- 


198  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

bling  on  sticks,  remonstrated.  "  Boss,"  she 
pleaded,  "you  what  is  all  civered  with  gold,  is 
you  willin*  ter  see  ole  massa's  chilluns  starve  ? 
We  w'ite  mens  wouldn't  do  dat  way,  caise  massa 
always  tell  de  niggars  ter  treat  omens  well.  Law, 
what  would  he  say  if  he  could  lift  he  head  from 
Midway  graveyard  !  " 

They  laughed  at  her  naive  speech. 

Affie  consulted  with  Hetty  and  Nanny  as  to 
the  best  way  to  feed  the  inmates  of'  that  rear 
room.  "  My  Jack  couldn't  sleep  last  night,"  said 
she,  "  he  was  groanin'  de  best  part  o'  de  time. 
I's  a  man,  Affie,  if  my  face  is  black ;  how  kin  we 
git  we  w'ite  folks  out  o'  dis  glomeration,  if  only 
ter  Riseburg?' 

" '  Riseburg !  Why  Jack,  Uncle  Scipio  say  you 
can't  see  de  co't  house  de  place  is  plump  full  o' 
gol'  buttons  an'  shinin'  swords  stickin'  in  de  gun 
mouth.  We  guns  ain't  like  dat.  I  asked  yister- 
day  if  I  could  give  de  baby  some  mush,  de  soldier 
jes'  level  dat  p'int  at  my  t'roat  an'  I  feel  my 
palate  cut  clean  out.  We  ain't  used  ter  sech  suf 
fusion.  What  is  we  ter  do  ?  " 

Each  night  the  old  lunch  box — made  for  mid 
day  luncheons — was  smuggled  through  the  win 
dow,  the  most  of  its  contents  begged  from  the 
soldiers,  by  negro  women. 

After  the  burning  of  the  gin-house  and  other 


The  Old  South.  199 

buildings,  Chim  implored  the  general  to  send 
them  under  flag  of  truce  to  the  Confederate 
lines. 

He  gladly  consented. 

Accordingly,  at  midnight,  a  two-wheeled  cart 
drove  to  the  gate  for  the  party  of  seven. 

One  trunk  only  was  allowed.  With  tears  in  her 
eyes  Lalla  turned  over  and  over  her  scant  bridal 
attire,  trying  to  decide  what  to  take,  what  to  leave. 
A  chill  in  the  night  air  enabled  them  to  double 
their  garments,  greatly  impeding  their  gait. 
Hoopskirts  being  still  in  fashion,  from  horizontal 
white-oak  splits  dangled  bunches  of  silver  spoons, 
forks,  and  a  cream  jug. 

When  Flossie  appeared,  a  Yankee  officer  asked  : 
"  Where  has  this  beautiful  girl  been  ?  I  searched 
this  house  myself,  yet  never  saw  her." 

Very  likely  !  Under  a  high  poster  valanced 
bed,  Nannie  had  spread  a  pallet,  where  the  fair 
blonde  had  spent  her  days.  Guarded  by  Jack, 
Frank,  or  Scipio,  she  exercised  after  tattoo. 

In  leaving,  Nannie  forgot  her  fear  of  the  officer  ; 
so  grasping  her  foster-son's  hand,  she  said,  "  Boss, 
dis  is  my  ole  missus'  las'  baby,  she  died  w'en  he 
was  only  a  few  hours  old  ;  I's  suckled  de  blessed 
child.  Oh  !  mister,  don't  let  no  harm  come  ter 
him  !  He's  powerful  high-tempered,  but  w'en  I 
says,  '  Sonnie,  who  trouble  you?'  he  t'rows  he 


2oo  Lyddy:  A  Tale  of 

arms  round  my  neck,  so," — embracing  the  fright 
ened  boy,  causing  even  Yankee  eyes  to  blur. 

The  lad  was  kindly  treated. 

On  the  Sandy  Run  road,  a  mile  from  Green 
Forest,  Jack  and  two  others  awaited  the  cart, 
bringing  corn  hoe-cakes,  and  hoping  to  go  with  the 
refugees.  Denied  this,  they  bade  the  fleeing 
party  good-bye.  il  Take  care  of  yourself,  ma'am," 
Frank  enjoined,  "  come  back  soon  !  We'll  do  we 
best  at  Green  Forest  ;  but  it  ain't  home  widout 
we  w'ite  folks.  We  wish  we  had  some  meat  for 
you." 

Noting  Letha's  feeble  condition,  the  sergeant 
in  charge  assisted  her  to  mount  the  horse's  back, 
her  feet  resting  upon  the  shaft.  From  one  side  to 
another  she  wriggled,  but  eventually  begged  the 
driver  to  allow  her  to  dismount.  "  Your  horse's 
bones  are  sharp,"  she  said,  "  I'd  rather  walk." 
In  fact,  she  was  seated  on  an  unseen  solid  silver 
cream-jug. 

Beyond  the  white  flag,  trials  were  not  yet  at 
end  ;  for  food  was  scarce,  and  famine  tugged  at 
the  vitals  of  every  one  within  the  Confederate 
lines.  The  officers  shared  their  scanty  store  with 
the  women,  then  sent  them  under  escort  toward 
Tomshear.  They  hoped  to  reach  Pine  Knot, 
where  a  welcome  would  be  theirs,  if  not  food. 

The   lowlands    were    now    inundated.      This 


The  Old  South.  201 

compelled  the  women  to  remove  their  only  pair 
of  shoes  and  stockings,  and  wade  for  hours  in  mud 
and  slush.  Eventually,  footsore  and  weary,  they 
halted  in  a  deserted  village,  to  rest  for  a  day 
or  so.  The  cabbage-palmetto,  wild  berries,  and  a 
few  pounds  of  corn  meal  bought  on  the  journey, 
constituted  their  food. 

Letha  and  the  Confederate  sergeant  pushed  on, 
hoping  to  secure  provisions  from  a  commissary  in 
charge  of  a  train,  reported  to  be  near  Blackheath. 
They  secured  all  that  they  could  carry,  but 
decided  to  stay  one  night,  to  be  ready  for  an 
early  start. 

Before  dawn  the  villagers  were  roused  by  the 
cry,  "  Yankees,  Yankees  !  " 

Sergeant  Way  jumped  out  of  his  bedroom 
window,  knowing  his  fate  if  captured  wearing  the 
grey.  The  little  place  was  completely  sur 
rounded,  and,  despite  Letha's  entreaties  and  her 
assurances  that  he  was  only  conducting  her  to  a 
place  of  safety,  he  was  taken  prisoner,  and 
bound. 

Unable  to  lift  his  hat,  he  cheerily  called  from 
the  captured  train  :  Don't  trouble  about  me ;  I'm 
truly  sorry  you've  lost  that  fine  side  of  bacon." 

Lieutenant  Mills  hearing  of  his  bride's  flight, 
received  a  furlough  to  pursue  her.  He  found  her 
in  Blackheath  with  her  sisters.  Their  camping  out- 


2O2  Lyddy:  A  Tale  of 

fit  comprised  one  tin  boiler,  a  wooden  bucket,  two 
plates,  and  three  cups,  with  dozens  of  spoons 
and  other  solid  silverware. 

Bravely  they  now  set  out  on  the  long  journey 
to  Pine  Knot,  where,  in  fact,  there  was  a  spirit  of 
keen  unrest  ;  for  wild  rumours  of  the  fall  of  Saver- 
nake  and  other  important  places  made  us  uneasy. 

That  mysterious,  intangible  post-bag — planta 
tion-gossip,  with  never  a  letter — had  brought  to 
Lydia  news  of  Flora's  sudden  death.  She  strove 
to  master  her  excitement,  but  failed.  At  her  dic 
tation,  I  wrote  Marlborough  a  letter  on  a  square 
of  wall  paper,  ending  with  a  Scripture  text : 
'*  Bro'  Molbro,  don't  forgit  Mars  C.  C.'s  words, 
'  Keep  your  heart  full  o'  de  love  o'  God,  an'  so 
live  in  peace  an'  everlastin'  rest." 

This  letter  never  reached  him.  Amos  and  he 
were  on  the  road  to  Green  Forest,  with  the  body 
of  their  master,  Captain  Fleming  Janes,  his  sword 
forever  sheathed. 

This  sad  news  had  not  reached  Pine  Knot. 
Indeed,  instead  of  mourning,  we  were  rejoicing 
over  a  gift  of  sausages,  spare-ribs,  and  chine- 
bones  sent  by  Revilo's  father,  who  held  the  post 
of  commissary  in  Savernake.  These  trimmings 
were  a  part  of  his  pay.  One  evening  we  had  just 
finished  a  greasy,  saltless  supper,  and  were  sitting 
in  the  open  hallway,  wondering  why  news  came 


The  Old  South.  203 

neither  from  Virginia  nor  Siberty  County.  Lydia 
was  cuddling  "  her  boy  "  to  sleep,  when  the  rumble 
of  wheels  and  a  helloa  at  the  gate  startled  us. 

"  Who  is  there  ?  What  do  you  wish  ?  "  Revilo 
called. 

A  strange  voice  replied,  "  Weary  travellers." 

Men  having  been  called  to  the  gate,  and  shot 
down  in  cold  blood,  I  clung  to  Revilo,  imploring 
him  not  to  go  until  Dick  could  bring  a  light-wood 
torch.  But  he  went,  I  holding  to  his  coat-tail. 
We  reached  the  gate  before  Dick. 

A  disguised  voice  asked  :  "  Can  you  shelter 
us  for  the  night  ?  "  Revilo  replied,  "  We  have 
only  two  rooms  and  one  bed." 

"  We  are  so  tired  !  and  the  women  fainting  with 
hunger.  Do  let  us  sleep  on  the  floor." 

A  child's  cry  for  a  bit  of  bread  touched  the 
tenderest  chord  of  our  hearts,  and  we  unhesitat 
ingly  replied  :  "  Come  in,  and  be  welcome.  We 
will  share  what  we  have." 

A  trembling  female  voice  said  :  "  Thank  you 
very  much,  we  are  hungry  and  tired."  The  light 
from  Dick's  torch  just  then  shone  into  the  travel 
lers'  faces — they  were  my  own  sisters,  driven  by 
Lalla's  young  husband. 

Like  wildfire  this  news  spread.  Our  negro 
cabins  were  accordingly  soon  empty,  the  negroes 
flocking  to  greet  "  old  massa's  chilluns." 


204  Lyddy:  A  Tale  of 

"  Whey  is  you  come  from,  missy  :  How  is  de 
folks  at  Green  Forest?  Law!  how  tired  dey 
look.  'Pon  my  soul,  dey  is  hongry.  Honey,  does 
you  want  a  piece  o'  bread?  Ain't  you  eat  a 
mouthful  ter-day  ?  " 

Juno  and  others  bustled  about  the  kitchen, 
preparing  another  supper,  while  Lydia  knelt  be 
side  Chim,  her  head  on  the  nurse's  shoulder. 
Stroking  her  soft  white  hands,  Lydia  was  too  over 
powered  with  grief  and  joy  to  ask  a  single  ques 
tion. 

On  the  floor  Letha  lay,  full  length,  her  dark 
ringlets  scattered  over  Clarinda's  lap,  while  black 
fingers  passed  over  and  over  her  weary  brow. 
The  nervous  tension  was  relaxed  upon  reaching 
this  haven  of  rest. 

Our  pine  table  was  soon  spread  ;  with  a  platter 
of  smoking  sausages  and  corn  hoe-cakes — the  en 
tire  bill  of  fare.  Into  those  hungry  eyes  there 
came  a  look  one  sees  in  Zoological  gardens  at  the 
feeding  hour. 

Unbidden,  the  negro  women  stripped  corn 
shucks  into  shreds,  and  converted  the  cloth  from 
the  loom  into  a  covering  for  a  mattress,  thus 
making  the  travellers  comfortable. 


The  Old  South,  205 


XVI. 
"Is  this  post  day?" 

"  Sweet  are  the  uses  of  adversity, 
Which,  like  the  toad,  ugly  and  venomous, 
Wears  yet  a  precious  jewel  in  his  head." 

SHAKESPEARE. 

DEFEAT  seemed  imminent,  yet  hope  buoyed 
us  up ;  we  believed  that  the  sun  of  vic 
tory  would  soon  arise.  Even  as  stars  are 
hidden  behind  clouds,  so  we  insisted  that  from 
beneath  a  canopy  of  discouragements,  rejoicing 
might  yet  ride  forth. 

All  over  the  land  widows  were  blending  their 
wails  with  the  mourns  of  mothers  and  sisters. 

At  Pine  Knot  we  were  cut  off  from  the  world 
as  completely  as  if  living  at  the  antipodes. 
Although  Abraham  Lincoln  promulgated  the 
Emancipation,  January  i,  1863,  we  had  not 
heard  of  it.  The  papers  that  reached  us  were 
mostly  out  of  date,  and  filled  with  names  of  the 
killed  and  wounded.  True  we  had  heard  of  the 
sinking  of  the  Alabama  by  the  Kearsarge,  and  that 


206  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

her  men  with  calmness  awaited  their  doom,  losing 
their  ship,  but  not  their  honour  ;  of  "  our  boys 
in  grey  "  subsisting  on  half-rations,  marching 
on  shoeless  feet,  unyielding  till  every  man  was 
prostrate  in  the  trenches.  General  Lee,  we  felt 
sure,  would  lower  his  flag  to  none  other  in  the 
land. 

The  tattered  uniforms  and  hob-nailed  boots  of 
officers  that  once  sat  in  law  offices,  professors' 
chairs,  or  on  plantation  piazzas-  told  a  tale  of 
heroism  as  clearly  as  did  the  words  of  a  Federal 
Colonel  at  Gettysburg  when  he  called  to  his  men, 
saying,  "  Boys,  don't  shoot ;  it's  a  pity  to  kill  such 
brave  fellows." 

About  our  cabin  scorched  wire-grass  showed, 
here  and  there  fresh  green  blades  sparkling  with 
dew.  Mocking-birds,  thrush,  blue-jays,  and  logger 
heads  sang  in  chorus  as  only  birds  can  sing.  The 
glow  of  a  spring  day  was  as  serene  as  if  the  uni 
verse  were  one  vast  brotherhood  at  peace.  My 
morning  was  engrossed  with  the  care  of  sick 
negroes,  and  on  returning  home,  Revilo's  whistle 
sounded.  I  hastened  to  the  gate  in  time  to 
welcome  him.  He  dismounted,  with  a  news 
paper  in  hand. 

"  Is  this  post  day  ?  "  I  asked. 

Not  a  word  did  he  reply  ;  his  cheeks  were  pale 
as  death,  his  lips  set  tight. 


The  Old  South.  207 

"Are  you  ill?"  I  continued.  National  adver 
sity  was  obliterated  by  the  fear  of  family  trouble. 

In  those  wild  days  women  learned  not  to  mul 
tiply  words,  scarcely  to  shed  a  tear.  With  Revilo 
hand  in  hand,  I  entered  the  cabin.  Dick  stabled 
the  pony :  it  was  white  with  foam. 

A  hapless  future  must  have  mapped  itself  out 
to  cause  Revilo  such  emotion  ;  he  was  usually  calm 
and  self-contained. 

With  a  heave  of  his  breast,  he  slowly  struggled 
to  articulate  the  words :  "  The  war  is  ended ; 
General  Lee  is  defeated, — not  conquered.  Our 
slaves  are  free.  Dare  I  tell  you  that  we  are 
impoverished?  Oh,  have  I  lived  to  meet  this 
hour?" 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  "and  we  will  stem  the  tide 
of  adversity.  Remember,  your  life  is  spared, 
while  thousands  have  been  killed  by  bullets. 
Don't  trouble  about  your  wife ;  for  true  love 
smooths  the  roughest  way,  even  if  it  doesn't 
make  the  pot  boil.  " 

A  smile  suffused  his  face.  The  look  of  despair 
was  supplanted  by  one  of  resolve.  Lifting  his 
eyes,  he  said,  "  God  helping  me,  with  energy  and 
industry  I  will  yet  surmount  this  trial." 

On  that  rough-hewn  log  floor,  we,  husband 
and  wife,  knelt,  each  offering  a  silent  petition. 

This  shock  to  us  was  like  unto  that  felt  by  a 


208  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

ship's  crew  wrecked  in  mid-ocean ;  there  was  no 
gleam  of  hope  from  even  a  distant  shore  ;  our 
minds  were  stunned  by  the  fact  of  our  poverty. 
The  mere  abolition  of  slavery  gave  us  little  con 
cern  in  that  hour — our  thoughts  were  engrossed 
with  the  certainty  of  want  and  starvation.  The 
future  gnashed  its  teeth,  making  it  almost  mock 
ery  for  us  to  hope. 

Only  time  could  convince  of  the  ultimate  good 
to  both  parties. 

Taking  the  dinner-bugle  down,  Revilo  sounded 
three  long  blasts. 

Our  labourers  came  from  the  fields,  Belfast 
inquiring  if  the  work  was  to  be  changed? 

"  No.  Congregate  at  the  front  in  an  hour's 
time.  I  have  something  to  say  to  you." 

Groups  of  men  and  women  soon  were  seen  talk 
ing,  their  quick-drawn  breath  betraying  their  anx 
iety.  "  What  has  happened  that  we  must  leave 
off  work  when  grass  is  overrunning  cotton  an* 
corn  ?  Has  anyone  been  stealin'  ?  " 

Overhead  the  sun  was  just  past  the  merid 
ian. 

The  next  day  it  would  arise  on  a  new  existence 
for  the  black  man  ;  for  his  brow  was  about  to  be 
crowned  with  the  cap  of  freedom.  It  may  be 
interesting,  even  at  this  late  day,  to  listen  to  the 
negroes'  welcome  to  freedom.  Personal  expe- 


The  Old  South.  209 

rience  only  is  given,  save  that  of  a  friend  that 
happened  to  be  in  Augusta,  and  inquired  of  an 
old  negro-woman  what  was  the  unusual  noise  in 
the  next  street.  "  Law,  missy,  ain't  you  heard 
denews?  Mars  Sherman  is  arriv'd  ;  hesen'awud 
round  dat  de  Lord  is  gib  ter  de  Et'opian  de  wings 
o'  de  mornin'  an'  tell  dem  ter  flee  ter  de  utmost 
part  o'  de  earth.  An'  dey  is  a  gwine.  Is  you 
want  ter  buy  any  berries  ter-day,  dey  is  cheap  an' 
sweet,  honey?" 

But  to  return.  As  requested,  our  negroes  gath 
ered  about  the  steps,  the  men  removing  their 
wire-grass  hats,  the  women  dropping  a  low  cour 
tesy.  The  scene  was  not  picturesque  as  of  yore ; 
instead  of  gay  bandannas,  bits  of  faded  cloth 
bound  the  women's  heads.  Lydia  sat  on  the  step 
with  "  her  boy  "  on  her  knee  ;  she  realised  some 
thing  unusual  had  happened.  Of  its  significance 
she  was  as  ignorant  as  those  that  lived  in  the 
quarters. 

With  undisguised  agitation  my  husband  rose 
from  his  rudely-constructed  bench  and  unfolded 
a  square  of  wall  paper,  received  that  morning  at 
the  post  office. 

"  This  newspaper/'  said  he, — for  such  it  was, — 

"  brings  to  us  important  news.     I  want  each  one 

to  listen  attentively,  then  try  to  show  by  your 

conduct  that  you  are  sensible  men  and  women. 

14 


2io  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

You  know  for  four  years  there  has  been  hard 
fighting  between  the  Yankees  and  we  of  the  south. 
You  have  heard  the  cannon,  and  this  many  a 
month  have  suffered  for  food  and  clothing.  Our 
beloved  General  Lee  has  been  for  a  time  surround 
ed  by  a  vast  army,  and  now,  with  his  men  starv 
ing  in  the  trenches,  he  has  been  forced  to  lay 
down  his  sword  before  the  Yankee  General,  Grant. 
For  months  I  myself  have  realised  that  our  men 
could  not  fight  much  longer  with  empty  knapsacks 
and  canteens.  A  proclamation  made  by  Abe 
Lincoln  then  comes  into  force." — He  stopped, 
scarcely  able  to  articulate. — "  This  changes  all 
of  you  from  slaves  into  free  men  and  women. 
Many  of  you  were  born  slaves  of  our  parents. 
God  knows  we,  their  children,  have  tried  to  do  our 
duty  to  you.  Your  young  mistress  has  nursed 
you  on  cold  winter  nights  when  death  seemed 
hovering  over  you." 

"  Dat  she  has,  massa  !  You  both  on  you  has  ! 
God  knows  you's  been  good  ter  us,  an'  He's  writ 
it  in  de  big  book!  "  said  old  Sawney,  his  words 
indicating  that,  with  encouragement,  he  would 
shout  "  Glory,  hallelujah  !  " 

My  husband's  voice  still  trembled.  "  Remem 
ber,  freedom  does  not  mean  a  pocketful  of  money, 
with  plenty  to  eat  and  wear !  You  are  really 
homeless,  and  now  must  feed  and  clothe  your- 


The  Old  South.  211 

selves  and  your  children.  Confederate  money  is 
of  no  more  value  than  waste  paper," — taking  from 
his  pocket  a  roll  of  one-hundred  dollar  bills. 

Following  his  example,  negro  men  turned 
over  the  paper  currency  in  their  possession,  not 
grasping  the  fact  of  its  utter  worthlessness.  They 
rammed  the  bills  down  into  their  trouser-pockets, 
resolving  to  spend  them  that  very  night  at  the 
country  store,  where  occasionally  they  bought  a 
twist  of  tobacco  or  a  pound  of  sugar. 

"  There  must  be  a  tremendous  change  over  the 
whole  country,"  Revilo  continued,  "and  much 
suffering,  before  matters  adjust  themselves.  You 
know  I  am  renting  this  plantation.  The  mules, 
the  wagons,  and  farming  utensils  are  all  mine. 
Not  an  ax  or  hoe  do  you  own ;  nor  a  stick  of 
wood  to  make  a  fire  in  your  cabins  ! — which  also 
belong  to  me.  You  haven't  a  foot  of  land  where 
on  to  plant  corn  or  cotton  ;  you  have  not  yet  re 
ceived  the  mule  and  forty  acres  promised  with 
freedom.  I  doubt  if  you  ever  get  it." 

Sawney  murmured :  "  I  told  hunno  people  it 
was  a  black  lie." 

"  I  haven't  had  time  to  think  of  the  best  plan," 
Revilo  went  on  to  say,  "  but  one  thing  I  do  know, 
the  crops  you  have  planted  must  die  without  your 
care.  If  you  work  on  as  usual,  until  Christmas, 
I  will  divide  everything  into  three  parts  :  one 


212  Lyddy :  A  Tale  of 

part  must  pay  the  rent  and  feed  the  stock;  another 
pay  for  provisions  and  clothing,  which  I  must  ad 
vance  for  you  and  your  children,  defraying  also 
my  family  expenses.  At  the  end  of  harvest  the 
third  part  will  be  divided  equally  between 
you ;  thus  giving  you  something  to  live  on  until 
you  can  find  employment.  For,  owing  to  my  fail 
ing  sight,  I  must  go  where  there  is  a  doctor. 

"  Try,  then,  not  to  let  this  new  order  of  things 
turn  your  heads.  Remember  it  is  no  disgrace  to 
be  under  my  authority.  Each  of  us  must  obey 
some  one ;  my  wife  here,  as  you  know,  rules 
me."  He  thus  gave  a  cheerful  turn  to  his  words, 
noticing  how  overwhelmed  I  was. 

His  brother,  one  arm  in  a  sling, — wounded  by  a 
bayonet  thrust, — then  rose  and  read  the  proclama 
tion  aloud. 

Each  word  fell  upon  my  ear  with  a  heavy 
stroke  ;  but  in  the  midst  of  my  despair  joy  filled 
my  heart.  Revilo  was  overpowered  by  the  effort 
he  had  made,  yet  beneath  his  shaded  brow  was 
an  expression  of  perfect  peace.  It  told  how  truly 
he  had  tried  to  be  a  humane  master. 

He  rose,  and,  as  a  father  talking  to  children, 
again  addressed  the  negroes,  who  still  stood  with 
heads  uncovered,  their  eyes  and  mouths  wide 
open,  their  faces  a  study  in  surprise,  amazement, 
and  incredulity. 


The  Old  South.  213 

"  Do  you  understand  what  my  brother  has 
read  ?  " 

The  foreman  Belfast  touched  his  forehead : 
"  Massa,  it  sounds  bery  strange,  but  fer  my  part 
me  an'  mine  is  going  ter  stay  here  jes  as  we  is. 
Odder  folks  kin  do  as  dey  choose,  I  knows  when 
I's  well  off."  Turning  to  the  crowd  of  negroes, 
he  said  :  "  Hunno  people,  you  has  permission  now 
fer  speak  your  mind." 

The  frightened  look  on  many  faces  gave  place 
to  expressions  of  joy.  "  Don't  be  troubled, 
massa,"  one  cried,  "  we  none  of  us  wants  ter 
leave  you  an'  missy." 

Another  asked  :  "  Whey's  we  ter  go  ?  Who's 
ter  feed  us?  We  has  no  money,  we  has  no 
land,  no  mule,  no  house.  Lord !  what  is  we  ter 
do?  We  don't  want  any  odder  master.  He 
might  beat  us." 

Sawney,  at  Pine  Knot,  like  Frank  at  Green 
Forest,  was  the  watchman  over  the  spiritual  in 
terest  of  the  people.  Deeming  it  now  his  privi 
lege  to  speak,  he  advanced  close  beside  the  cabin 
step,  his  grey  hairs  shining  in  the  sunlight.  Bow 
ing  to  his  master,  he  crossed  his  thin  hands  over 
his  breast. 

"  Hunno  people,"  said  he,  "  Mars  C.  C.  read 
'bout  how  de  Lord  had  no  place  fer  lay  He  head ; 
not  so  much  as  de  foxes  or  de  birds  of  de  air.  I's 


214  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

a  t'inldn'  we  is  jes  de  same.  Some  on  us  is 
gettin'  ole  an'  can't  work  much  longer.  Some 
time  we'll  be  sick,  sometime  we  must  die.  Wid 
no  massa,  wid  no  missy,  law,  what  trouble  dey  is 
ter  be,  sech  tribilation  we  has  neber  t'ought  o' 
yit.  Some  on  you  may  fly  off  ter  git  your  forty 
acres  an'  mule.  Hear  me,  it's  a  lie !  Afore 
you  knows,  you'll  be  beggin'  or  stealin',  caise  ole 
massa  say  dey  is  only  three  ways  ter  make  a  livin'. 
I  tends  ter  work  long  as  I  kin  lift  a  hoe  right  here 
wid  we  good  massa." 

His  earnestness  had  its  effect.  The  breathless 
stillness  of  that  eventful  day  was  broken  by  a 
chorus  of  voices  :  "  You  is  say  de  true  word,  Uncle 
Sawney,  we  has  no  'tention  ter  leave  we  w'ite 
folks." 

Lydia  and  "  her  boy  "  were  in  a  tight  embrace. 
The  child  wondered  at  his  dear  nurse's  tears  ;  they 
recalled  to  him  the  death  and  burial  of  little 
Lydia,  an  infant  of  Belfast,  who  had  been  recently 
laid  beneath  the  pines. 

"  Mommer,  don't  cry,"  he  begged,  his  wee  white 
hand  brushing  her  tears  away.  "  Don't  cry,  I 
love  you  so  much.  Who's  dead,  mommer?" 

Through  my  own  tears  I  saw  drops  falling  over 
my  husband's  full  beard.  We  had  long  dreaded 
the  culmination  of  an  unequal  strife  between 
Yankees  and  Southerners,  yet  when  the  end  did 


The  Old  South.  215 

come,  it  stunned  us.  Certainly  we  had  not 
dreamed  of  having  such  proofs  of  love  and  devo 
tion  from  our  coloured  people,  who  were  now 
suddenly  elevated  to  the  platform  of  freedom. 
The  turning  loose  of  these  millions  was  as  if  an 
orphan  school  were  disbanded,  with  the  words : 
"  Children,  go  into  the  world  ;  provide  you  homes, 
food  and  clothing  ;  the  land  is  rich  with  gold  and 
silver  ;  dig  and  coin  money  for  yourselves. 

With  no  experience,  building  material,  or  food  ; 
without  a  spade  with  which  to  dig,  how  could 
they  make  a  living?  True,  Lincoln  split  rails, 
and  Franklin  set  up  type ;  but  some  one  ordered 
the  number  of  rails,  and  written  pages  were  fur 
nished  Franklin. 

Mere  work  does  not  ensure  a  full  meal  or  a 
couch  on  which  to  rest.  Our  former  slaves  were 
unlettered,  and  wholly  unused  to  take  thought 
for  the  morrow.  Freedom  then  dawned  to  many 
not  so  much  with  gladness,  as  with  a  dread  of  the 
unborn  future. 

In  very  truth  the  flag  of  the  Shenandoah  had 
now  dipped,  never  more  to  wave  from  flag-staff 
or  mast-head. 

Marlborough  and  Amos  had,  but  a  few  weeks 
before,  returned  with  their  master's  body.  In 
Midway  they  laid  him  to  rest,  the  grey  moss 
waving  like  a  flag  of  peace  over  his  grave. 


216  Lyddy:  A  Tale  of 

Marlborough  then  hastened  to  Professor  La- 
mont's  plantation.  His  wife  had  died  a  month 
before,  leaving  her  children  in  care  of  her  blind 
father. 

Marlborough  realised  now  that  he  had  his 
family  to  support.  And  he  with  not  a  shingle  to 
cover  their  heads,  and  only  a  roll  of  worthless  Con 
federate  paper-money  in  his  pockets! 

Flora's  master  again  took  the  chair  of  a  pro 
fessorship,  giving  little  thought  to  his  estate  in 
Siberty  County.  It  remained  in  possession  of 
his  former  slaves. 

Marlborough,  not  knowing  what  to  do  with 
his  family,  quite  naturally  turned  to  Lydia  for 
comfort  and  advice. 

By  word  of  mouth, — the  negro's  only  means 
of  communication, — she  heard  that  her  friend  and 
old  lover  would  soon  be  with  her,  hoping  to  find 
employment  in  the  neighbourhood. 

This  news  aroused  in  Robin  a  keen  dread  lest 
he  should  lose  a  good  wife  and  a  mother  for  his 
children  ;  for  free  negroes  might  not  think  slave- 
marriages  binding.  "  Dat  rascal,  what  broke  my 
leg  an'  cut  my  t'roat,  is  got  no  wife  now.  He's 
comin'  here  ter  steal  my  Lyddy.  Folks  says  love 
is  always  young.  I  myself  is  seed  w'ite  folks 
marry  wid  one  foot  in  de  grave,  but  I'll  show  dat 
fellow  dat  I's  a  free  man  an1  kin  come  an'  go  as  I 


The  Old  South.  217 

chooses."  Shaking  off  the  lethargy  his  well-kept 
cabin  had  superinduced,  he  informed  Lydiaof  his 
intention  of  going  to  Tomshear  after  the  crops 
were  divided  ;  there,  she  could  take  in  washing 
and  ironing  ;  ladies  might  do  a  bit  of  housework, 
but  shirt-fronts  they  couldn't  iron  ! 

Lydia  made  no  secret  of  her  delight  at  the 
prospect  of  greeting  Marlborough.  He  had  come 
home,  she  said,  "  a  live  soldier,  wid  a  cockade 
of  vict'ry  in  he  hat."  The  dagger  she  had 
dreaded,  she  now  spoke  of  as  lying  on  a  battle 
field,  where  she  knew  Marlborough  had  more 
than  once  drawn  it  in  defence  of  his  master.  In 
her  imaginative  mind  these  onesided  battles  were 
fought  over  and  over  with  never  a  defeat  where 
her  loved  ones  were  engaged. 

After  his  return  Amos  lost  no  time ;  he  mar 
ried  his  girl.  But  up  to  a  moment  before  the 
ceremony  she  was  grumbling  because  she  hadn't 
one  inch  of  white  tarlatan  for  a  veil,  nor  a  pair  of 
old  white  gloves  to  cover  her  black  hands  :  "  I 
ain't  no  more  dan  half  a  bride,"  she  pouted,  "  in 
such  no  'count  clo's."  She  gave  her  frock  a 
spiteful  toss. 

Her  husband  was  more  fortunate  ;  he  wore  his 
master's  military  coat  with  epaulettes,  brass 
buttons,  and  gold  braid,  looking  every  inch  a  man 
any  girl  might  be  proud  to  marry.  A  red  cockade, 


218  Lyddy:  A  Tale  of 

too,  of  a  Federal  trooper's,  which  he  had  picked 
up  after  a  battle,  in  Virginia,  he  now  stuck  in 
his  hat. 

No  one  was  prouder  than  he  of  his  experience 
at  the  front.  Siberty  County  negroes  listened 
to  his  blood-curdling  accounts  of  hair-breadth 
escapes,  feeling  that  supernatural  spirits  must 
have  guarded  him. 

For  all  time  Amos  was  a  personage. 


The  Old  South.  219 


XVII. 
J^ydia's  Ghost  Story. 

"  I  sing  the  hymn  of  the  conquered  who  fell  in  the  battle  of  life, 
The  hymn  of  the  wounded,  the  beaten,  who  died  overwhelmed 

in  the  strife ; 
The  hymn  of  the  low  and  the  humble,  the  weary,  the  broken  in 

heart, 
Who  strove  and  who  failed." 

W.  W.  STORY. 

THE  life  of  everyone  forced  to  bend  his  will 
to  that  of  another,  must  be  beset  with 
trying  hours  and  bitter  hardships. 
So,  too,  Lydia's  life  had  not  been  all  sunshine ; 
but  she  had  prized  her  joys   and  cherished  the 
flowers  that  bloomed  in  her  pathway. 

Therefore,  when  the  day. came  that  she  was 
freed  from  all  shackles  of  slavery — quitting 
the  room  adjoining  the  one  metaphorically  occu 
pied,  as  it  had  been,  by  "  Uncle  Tom  "  and  his 
chains — we  hear  wailing  rather  than  rejoicing. 

The  following  poem  is  so  characteristic  of  the 
way  Lydia  felt,  and  also  the  way  she  expressed 
herself  regarding  her  freedom,  I  venture  to  insert 


22O  Lyddy:  A  Tale  of 

it.     The  author  I   do  not   know,  and   I    cannot 
vouch  for  the  authenticity  of  the  dialect : 

"  Oh,  mammy,  have  you  heard  the  news  ? " 

Thus  spoke  a  Southern  child, 
As  in  the  nurse's  aged  face, 

She  upward  glanced  and  smiled. 

"  What  news  you  mean,  my  little  one  ? 

It  must  be  mighty  fine, 
To  make  my  darling's  face  so  red, 
Her  sunny  blue  eyes  shine  !  " 

"Why  Abram  Lincoln,  don't  you  know, 

The  Yankee  President, 
Whose  ugly  picture  once  we  saw 
When  up  to  town  we  went ; 

"Why,  he  is  going  to  free  you  all, 

And  make  you  rich  and  grand, 
And  you'll  be  dressed  in  silk  and  gold, 
Like  the  proudest  in  the  land. 

"  A  gilded  coach  shall  carry  you 

Where'er  you  wish  to  ride, 
And,  mammy,  all  your  work  shall  be 
Forever  laid  aside." 

The  eager  speaker  paused  for  breath, 

And  then  the  old  nurse  said, 
While  closer  to  her  swarthy  cheek 

She  pressed  the  golden  head, 


The  Old  South.  221 

"  My  little  missus,  stop  an'  res', 

You's  talkin'  mighty  fas', 
Jes'  look  up  dere  an'  tell  me  what 
You  see  in  yonder  glass. 

"  You  see  ole  mammy's  wrinkled  face, 

As  black  as  any  coal, 
An'  underneath  her  handkerchief 
Whole  heaps  of  knotty  wool. 

"  My  darlin's  face  is  red  an'  white, 

Her  skin  is  sol'  an'  fine, 

An'  on  her  prutty  little  head 

De  yaller  ringlets  shine. 

"  My  chile,  who  made  dis  difference 

'Twixt  mammy  an'  'twixt  you  ? 
You  reads  it  in  de  dear  Lord's  book, 
An'  you  kin  tell  me  true. 

"  De  dear  Lord  said  it  must  be  so, 

An',  honey,  I  for  one 
Wid  t'ankful  heart  will  always  say 
His  holy  will  be  done. 

«'  I  t'anks  Mars  Lunkin,  all  de  same, 

But  when  I  wants  for  free 
I'll  ask  de  Lord  ob  glory, — 
Not  poor  buckra  man,  like  he. 

"  An'  as  for  gilded  carriages 

Dey's  berry  fine  to  see, 
But  massa's  coach  what  carries  him 
Is  good  enough  for  me. 


222  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

"  An',  honey,  when  your  mammy  wants 

To  change  her  homespun  dress, 
She'll  pray,  like  dear  ole  missus, 
To  be  clothed  with  righteousness. 

"  My  work's  been  done  dis  many  a  day, 

An'  now  I  takes  my  ease  ; 
A-waitin'  for  de  Master's  call 
Jes'  when  de  Master  please. 

"  And  when  at  last  de  time  done  come 

An'  poor  ole  granny  dies, 
Your  own  dear  mother's  sof '  white  ban' 
Shall  close  dese  tired  old  eyes. 

"  De  dear  Lord  Jesus  soon  will  take 

Ole  mammy  home  to  Him, 
An'  He  can  wash  my  guilty  soul 
From  eb'ry  stain  of  sin. 

"  An'  at  his  feet  I  shall  lie  down 

Who  died  an'  rose  for  me, 
An'  den,  an'  not  till  den,  my  chile, 
Your  mammy  shall  be  free. 

"  Come,  little  missus,  say  your  prayers, 

Let  ole  Mars  Lunkin  'lone, 
De  Lord  knows  who  b'longs  to  him 
An*  he'll  care  for  his  own." 

Lydia,  in  tears,  told  how  "  De  folk  at  de  quar 
ters  was  talkin'  'bout  goin*  ter  live  at  Green 
Forest  ag'in  ;  dey  t'inks  dey'll  be  happy  deir  ;  but 


The  Old  South.  223 

dey'll  find  it  ain't  home  widout  de  w'ite  chilluns. 
Bro'  Robin  kin  go  wid  his  family  ;  I  sha'n't  leave 
my  boy  fer  any  o'  dem.  Miss  Dodo,"  she  said, 
turning  to  me,  "  is  it  right  fer  Bro'  Robin  ter 
drag  me  away?  Bro'  Molbro  wouldn't  'fuse  me 
dis  joy.  Now  I's  gittin  grey  " — lifting  the  bor 
der  of  a  new  bandanna  that  "  her  boy  "  had  given 
her. 

The  child  threw  himself  into  her  arms.  "  You 
sha'n't  go,  mommer.  Daddy  Robin  can't  take 
you  away.  I'm  hugging  you.  I'll  be  a  man 
when  my  ptints  are  finished  ;  then  you  can  live 
with  me." 

"  Oh,  my  sweet  chile,  I  won't  go.  No,  I  won't 
go  fer  no  free  nigger,  if  he  is  my  husband.  Colonel 
Ross  is  talkin'  nonsense  at  de  politic  meetens  he's 
holdin'  at  Mars  Bob's  plantation.  '  You  niggars 
is  fools,'  says  he.  Some  fine  mornin'  you'll  wake 
up  slaves  ag'in.  Four  years  I  fought  ter  set  you 
free,  why  don't  you  come  an'  plant  cotton  fer  me  ? 
In  dozens  of  New  York  banks  I've  piles  of  green 
backs.  My  wife  an'  daughter  dress  better  dan 
anyone  in  de  settlement,  an'  if  your  w'ite  folks 
were  kindhearted  dey'd  call." 

Allured  by  Colonel  Ross's  offer,  Daniel  asked 
permission  to  leave  us  ;  he  gave  as  his  reason  his 
engagement  to  the  colonel's  cook. 

His  happiness,  however,  was  short-lived.     The 


224  Lyddy  .  A  Tale  of 

black  queen  of  the  pots  and  skillets  tossed  him 
aside  in  a  few  weeks  for  "  one  more  suited  ter  her 
understandin'  as  cook  ter  a  rich  buckra  man 
whose  coat  was  civered  wid  gold,  two  golden  tip 
pets  on  he  shoulders  an'  a  red  rooster's  tail  wavin' 
in  he  hat," 

Daniel  married  Judy,  his  old  love. 

Lydia  told  again  how  "  Colonel  Ross  had  said, 
'  thousands  of  Yankees  was  rottin'  in  deir  graves 
ter  give  dem  freedom.' 

"What  does  I  care  if  dey  is?"  she  said.  "We 
neber  'vited  dem  ter  leave  deirwives  an'  daughters 
ter  be  killed.  I  knows  one  t'ing  ;  if  it  hadn't  been 
fer  free  niggars,  ter-day  I'd  be  Mrs.  Molbro  Janes, 
wid  de  best  husban'  dat  ever  lived. 

"Ah,  missy,''  she  continued,  "  soon  we'sall  ter 
be  scattered  ;  Juno  an'  Dick  is  goin'  ter  ole  Jim. 
He  say  he  must  see  Boy  an'  Cissy  a-fore  he 
dies." 

Lydia  wished  to  name  her  first  grandchild 
"  Molbro,"  but  Juno  the  mother  thought  it 
ought  to  be  Dick  or  Marmaduke.  Dick,  the 
father,  however,  declared  it  should  be  neither, 
but  Jim,  after  his  "  pa."  Before  the  infant  was 
named,  it  received  the  nickname  "  Boy,"  which  was 
entered  in  our  plantation  book. 

Although  I  longed  to  retain  Lydia  in  our  serv 
ice,  yet  it  seemed  unwise  to  interfere.  We  had 


The  Old  South.  225 

never  broken  family  ties  in  slavery  days  ;  why 
should  we  break  them  now? 

Lydia  strove  day  by  day  to  cheer  and  enliven 
our  home,  knowing  that  to  us  the  future  appeared 
dark.  A  bright  smile  wreathed  her  black  face 
when  she  opened  our  cabin-door,  seemingly  for 
getful  of  troubles  that  pricked  her  own  heart.  In 
the  spirit  of  the  olden  days  she  recalled  many 
amusing  occurrences  that  had  happened  in  the 
nursery  at  Green  Forest.  A  ghost  story  well 
known  to  us  her  older  "  w'ite  chilluns  "  she  re 
lated  now  to  "  her  boy,"  with  enthusiasm. 

"  Ober  at  Mars  Ben's,"  said  she,  "  dey  was  a 
man  called  Sambo,  whose  wife  lived  a  mile  t'other 
side  Midway  cem't'ry.  Sambo  went  ter  his  wife's 
house  'fore  dark,  but  one  night  he  was  belated, 
an'  when  beside  de  wall  a  col'  breeze  blowed  in 
he  face  and  icy  fingers  gripped  he  ear-tips. 
Standin'  a  few  yards  off  was  a  life-size  ghos'  in 
long  wavin'  hair  an'  w'ite  robes.  Sambo  first 
t'ought  he'd  scream,  den  he  'membered  no  one 
lived  near  by,  so  he  held  he  breaf  les'  he  might 
wake  up  odder  daid  people.  He  wound  he  arms 
round  a  saplin',  an'  he  never  could  tell  how  he  an' 
dat  tree  parted  comp'ny.  When  he  come  ter  he 
senses  his  wife  Mary  was  settin'  bolt  upright  in 
bed  screamin',  '  Sambo  is  you  plum  'stracted  ?  Is 

dis  de  way  fer  come  in  a  decent  'oman's  house  ? 
ii 


226  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

Git  along  wid  you  !  Don't  hug  me  till  you  learns 
'spectful  manners.' " 

"  '  Mary,  Mary,'  he  cried,  '  is  a  sperit  come  in 
de  dooe  behin'  me  ?  It  had  my  ear-tips  tight 
'twixt  its  cold,  bony  fingers.  '  Sambo  by  dis 
time  was  under  de  blankets,  wid  shoes  an'  hat. 
In  de  corn  fields  nex'  day  de  folks  neber  give 
de  poor  feller  any  res.'  All  he  say  was,  '  If  any 
you  mens  want  ter  go  ter  Mary's  cabin  a'terdark, 
go  'long  wid  you.  If  massa  don't  'low  me  time 
by  daylight  it's  a  long  week  'fore  Sambo's  visage 
'11  'luminate  de  portal  of  dat  house  ober  at  Mars 
Abel's.  '  In  Siberty  County  even  de  w'ite  folks 
didn't  like  ter  pass  de  graveyard.  A  chu'ch 
meetin'  was  called  an'  de  elders  'structed  Sambo's 
boss  ter  send  him  on  a  Monday  night  ter  show 
dem  where  de  ghos'  could  be  seen.  '  Massa,' 
says  he,  '  I  likes  fer  'bey  w'ite  folks,  but,  believe 
me,  sah,  nobody'll  git  me  in  gunshot  o'  dat  brick 
wall  a'ter  dark. '  Deacon  Quarterly  promised 
him  a  new  beaver  hat  an'  Sunday  go-ter-meeten 
clothes,  so  he  'greed  ter  meet  dem  at  de  cross 
roads  if  dey  would  bring  a  horse  fer  him  ter  ride. 
He  didn't  have  no  peace ;  de  men  'lowed  he'd 
break  an'  run  at  de  fust  sight  o'  de  chu'ch  steeple. 

"  '  Bro'  Gus,  '  said  Sambo,  'don't  you  put  bad 
mouth  on  me,  my  old  beaver  is  done  gone  ter 
pieces.  Don't  you  t'ink  mens  what  prays  'loud 


The  Old  South.  227 

in  chu'ch  kin  keep  off  ghos'  ?  I  may  dim'  a  tree, 
but  folks  say  if  a  ghos'  teches  a  saplin'  even  a 
'possum  can't  hold  on.' 

"  De  men  jogged  'long,  one  star  af'er  annoder 
twinklin'  over  head.  Bullfrogs  was  croakin'  an' 
katydid  an'  katydidn'ts  quar'ling.  Pres'n'ly,  Bro' 
Sambo  jerked  up  he  horse.  '  Massa,  we  better 
hitch  here,  caise  when  a  horse  feels  a  cold  win' 
deir  hair  rises,  an'  wid  backin'  deir  ears,  no  man 
kin  keep  de  saddle.  It's  de  hones'  truf,  sah, 
dat's  how  Jack  loss  he  fron'  teeth.'  He  young 
massa  had  com*  home  a  sure  'nough  doctor,  and 
'lowed  he  mus'  have  grave-yard  bones  ter  study 
de  corp'ration  of  de  niggar.  He  bribe  Bro'  Jack 
ter  help  him.  Dey  had  bust  open  de  coffin  an' 
shove  de  daid  niggar  in  de  cart  when  a  cold  win' 
blowed  about  deir  ears.  Mars  Dr.  Sam  call  out, 
'  Jack,  pick  up  dose  lines  an'  drive  fer  your  life.' 
Bro'  Jack  no  sooner  stoop  dan  de  ole  blin'  mare, 
what's  gentle  as  a  lam',  let  fly  her  heels  an'  plum' 
square  hit  dem  front  teeth.  Mars  Dr.  Sam  pitch 
dat  fellow  in  de  cart,  an'  he  neber  knowed  'till  de 
got  ter  de  stable  but  what  he  had  two  daid  nig- 
gars  ter  hide.  Folks  was  dumfounded  when 
Bro'  Jack  com*  ter  work  wid  no  teeth.  It  was  six 
months  'fore  dey  hear  how  dey  was  pulled. 

"  Midway's  old  clock  was  strikin'  'leven  when  de 
mens  tied  deir  horses.  Deacon  Quarterly  handed 


228  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

Sambo  a  cigar.  '  T'ank  you,  massa,'  he  said,  '  ter- 
morrow  I'll  smoke.  Sperits  don't  like  brimstone, 
matches,  or  'bacca.  Law,  massa,  I  has  goose- 
flesh  a  crawlin'  down  my  back.  Does  you  feel 
creepy  ?  By  jolly  !  dar  he  is  !  dar  !  '  pointing  in 
de  direction  of  de  stone  wall.  He  neber  bet'ought 
him  'bout  de  pony,  but  ran  eb'ry  step  of  de  way 
ter  Mary's  cabin.  De  w'ite  mens  seein'  a  sure- 
'noughw'ite  figgerwid  flowin'  robes,  los'  no  time, 
but  mounted  deir  saddles.  Dey  was  so  scared  dey 
neber  stopped  ter  look  fer  deir  own  horses.  Folks 
neber  knowd  how  does  beasts  got  in  de  wrong 
stables.  One  pony  stomped  'long  side  de  tree  all 
night,  neighin'  in  de  mornin'  fer  he  feed.  Mary's 
husband  got  he  beaver  an'  Sunday  clothes.  Folks 
say  afterward  it  was  two  young  mens  home  from 
college  what  found  where  de  ghos'  hid  heself. 
Watchin'  one  night,  dey  followed  plum'  ter  Wid- 
der  Cook's,  an'  saw  de  sperit  wid  no  key  turn  de 
front  door-lock;  an'  if  it  didn't  walk  straight  ter 
de  widder's  bed  an'  lie  'long  side  de  poor  w'ite 
lady  what  folks  say  was  weepin'  fer  her  husband 
who  had  jes  been  buried  in  Midway  grave-yard." 
(Rich  Mrs.  Cook,  it  seems,  walked  in  her  sleep.) 

Lydia  told  "  her  boy  "  this  long  ghostly  narra 
tion  with  as  much  earnestness  as  if  it  had  hap 
pened  but  the  week  before. 

The  first  months  of  that  eventful  year  of  1865, 


The  Old  South.  229 

and  of  freedom,  wore  on  apace.  Corn-shucks 
turned  brown  and  sear.  Busy  squirrels  darted 
from  tree  to  tree  in  search  of  pine-mast  for  their 
winter  store.  In  this  they  were  better  off  than 
many  of  us,  having  a  goodly  supply ;  we  had  only 
a  handful  of  food. 

Sawney  and  his  wife,  both  old  and  feeble,  gave 
us  no  end  of  anxiety.  Sawney  fell  ill.  Business 
calling  us  to  Halby,  we  stopped  at  the  old  man's 
cabin  to  give  directions  about  his  medicines. 

"  Don't  stay  long,  missy,"  he  pleaded,  "  Saw 
ney  is  hoe  he  las'  row.  I's  nearin'  de  end,  ma'am. 
I  feels  pow'rful  weak  an'  is  pray  in'  de  same  word 
me  an'  my  old  'oman  pray  when  massa  tell  'bout 
Mars  Abe  Linkin.  I  says  dat  day,  '  Ole  'oman,  is 
you  got  it  in  yer  head  dat  massa  is  a  free  man  ? 
Sure  as  you  an'  me  is  borned  he  ain't  bleeged  ter 
stay  here  tarrifyin'  he  soul  an'  body  feedin'  us ; 
he's  a  free  man.  We  kneel  down  an'  den  I  lifts 
my  voice  ter  de  Fadder's  throne.  '  O  Lord,' 
says  I, '  if  it  is  dy  holy  will,  let  we  missy  close  we 
eye ;  let  me  an'  de  ole  'oman  lie  under  de  pines 
wid  de  baby  Liddy  till  de  trumphet  calls  we  dry 
bones  ter  de  ressarection  cou't ! '  Don't  stay 
long,  ma'am,  caise  de  year'll  soon  terminate. 
What's  me  an'  Clarinder  ter  do?" 

"At  five  on  Friday,"  I  said,  "we  will  be 
home.  Don't  trouble  about  your  future.  God 


230  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

has  promised  to  have  a  care  of  those  who  trust 
Him.  Take  your  gruel  regularly." 

"  De  Lord's  will  be  done.  Good-bye,  little 
massa.  How  is  de  pet  lam'  ?  " 

The  child  answered  cheerily,  "  Mommer's  goin' 
to  feed  it.  I'll  bring  it  to  see  you  when  we  get 
home." 

A  sandy  road  retarded  our  return,  but,  nearing 
the  cabins,  Dick  urged  his  mules,  excited  as  he 
was  by  seeing  a  crowd  in  front  of  Sawney's 
cabin.  Turning  to  me  he  said,  "  Dey's  somet'ing 
happen,  ma'am  ;  look  at  de  folks  ober  yonder." 

The  negroes  cried,  "  Come,  missy,  come,  de  old 
man's  ben  a-callin'  fer  you  dis  half  hour;  de 
charyot  is  swing  low ;  he's  a-prayin'  fer  it  ter 
stan'  still,  jes  ter  de  hour  when  massa  an'  missy 
come.  It's  a-waitin'  fer  you,  ma'am  !  " 

Sawney's  glazed  eyes  turned  toward  us  as  we 
opened  the  cabin-door,  his  emaciated  hands 
reaching  for  an  invisible  object.  "  Is  dat  de 
charyot  wheels  a-rumblin'  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Yes, 
Lord,  here  is  me.  On  de  strike  o'  de  five  missy 
say  she'll  be  home.  Deir,  I  feels  her  sof  han". 
Shut  my  eye,  ma'am  ;  I's  lay  down  de  shovel  an' 
de  hoe.  Lord,  here  is  me  !  Amen  !  " 

So  Sawney  died.  And  we  all  believed  that 
the  Christmas-tide  found  him  in  the  keeping  of 
His  Saviour,  a  ransomed  soul. 


The  Old  South.  231 

One  night  a  month  after,  the  fire  burning  low, 
Phoebe  his  daughter,  with  a  new-born  infant 
sleeping  in  her  arms,  complained  of  being  cold. 
Clarinder  hastened  in  search  of  wood,  when  a 
downpour  of  rain  saturated  her  garments,  and 
she  took  cold,  developing  pleurisy.  Without  a 
flicker,  as  with  one  puff  of  wind,  her  life  was  ex 
tinguished.  Providence,  fate,  or  whatever  one 
chooses  to  call  the  power  that  decides  our  future, 
provided  for  this  aged  couple. 

My  husband  and  I,  attended  by  the  plantation 
negroes,  followed  her  plain  deal  coffin.  Under 
the  pines  we  buried  her,  the  old  plantation  song 
of  "  Uncle  Ned  "  ringing  in  our  minds. 


232  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 


XVIII. 

Valentine  Versus  April-fool. 

"  Why  shadow  the  beauty  of  sea  or  of  land 

With  a  doubt  or  a  fear  ? 

God  holds  all  the  swift-rolling  worlds  in  His  hand 
And  sees  what  no  man  can  as  yet  understand, 
That  out  of  life  here, 
With  its  smile  and  its  tear, 
Comes  forth  into  light,  from  Eternity  planned, 
The  soul  of  good  cheer.' 

Don't  worry — 
The  end  shall  appear. 

ELIZABETH  PORTER  GOULD. 

AFTER  the  produce  of  the  place  was  gar 
nered,  the  bugle  summoned  the  negroes 
for  a  division. 

"  Whey  is  you  goin',  massa  ?  "  they  exclaimed. 
"  Dey  is  hard  times  ahead  fer  you  an'  fer  we  ;  no 
body  ter  feed  us,  nobody  ter  wait  on  missy !  I 
reckon  we  must  all  go  home  ter  Green  Forest ; 
we  longs  ter  see  de  grey  moss  waving." 

Until  the  hour  arrived,  we  never  suspected 
what  it  would  cost  us  to  drive  away  from  Pine 
Knot,  thus  sundering  ties  and  severing  relation- 


The  Old  South.  233 

ships  that,  with  happy  memories,  bound  us  to  the 
past.  We  had  been  petted  and  spoiled  by  more 
than  one  black  mammie. 

To  Ducpon,  our  new  home,  Belfast,  Lawrence, 
and  Georgia  went  with  a  wagon  containing  a  few 
household  effects.  These  they  offered  to  put  in 
order  before  our  arrival.  Dick  was  now  at  our 
gate  with  a  rattling  old  carnage  and  two  lazy 
mules.  On  the  front  cushion,  where  a  nurse 
usually  sat,  were  bundles  and  a  home-made  cage ; 
inside  a  blue-bird  hopping  from  perch  to  perch. 
Lunch,  our  house-pet,  was  securely  tied  in  a 
bag.  She  scratched  and  meowed  insistently. 

"  Good-bye,  missy,  God  bless  yer,"  said  one 
negro  after  another.  "  Don't  forgit  we  w'at's 
goin*  home ;  send  your  old  frocks  an'  massa's 
pants.  Some  one'll  be  glad  fer  dem."  Juno's 
little  girl  Cissy,  pulling  at  my  gay  balmoral, 
begged  that  she  might  have  it. 

All  details  settled,  my  husband  proposed  that 
we  start.  "  Time  and  tide  wait  for  no  man  !  "  said 
he.  Then  he  asked  for  Lydia  and  the  child  ? 

"  Sis  Lyddy !  "  the  women  called,"  massa  is 
ready  ter  git  in  de  carriage.  Sonnie,  whey  is 
you  ?  " 

Between  sobs  Juno  said,  "  I  reckon  dey  is  in 
ma's  cabin.''  She  went  herself  in  search  of  dem. 

"  Dey  ain't   deir,"   she   cried.     "  Ma's   box   is 


234  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

fling  open,  her  clothes  scattered  on  de  floor.  Oh  ! 
whey  is  ma  ?  She  never  leaves  her  box  open ; 
hunno  people,  hunt  ;  dey's  trouble  somewhere, 
caise  las'  night  when  Bro'  Robin  was  sayin'  he 
wouldn't  tol'rate  any  nonsense,  ma  make  answer: 
'  Nobody  shall  drag  me  'way  from  my  boy.  I'd 
rather  we  died  in  each  odder's  arms.' " 

Frenzied  at  the  mere  suggestion,  I  rushed  into 
the  empty  cabin,  only  to  find  glowing  pine  logs 
hissing  and  singing.  "  Lydia,  Lydia,"  I  called, 
"  where  are  you  with  our  child.  Go  quickly,  one 
of  you,  and  tell  Dick  to  drag  the  well.  Oh  !  they 
must  be  there,  or  they  would  answer !  " 

We  found  them  behind  the  cabin  built  for  the 
loom.  The  little  playhouse  stood  there  with 
its  corn-cob  soldiers,  home-made  toys,  and  clay 
marbles.  In  close  embrace  the  nurse  was  enfold 
ing  "  her  boy,"  his  ruby  lips  pressed  against  her 
dusky  cheeks,  his  arms  locked  around  her  neck. 
Of  the  excitement  their  absence  was  causing  they 
were  both  unconscious. 

We  started,  finally,  and  after  we  were  well  along 
our  journey,  I  noticed  in  the  pocket  of  my  little 
boy's  kilt,  an  inlaid  snuff-box,  and  recognised  it 
as  one  that  had  belonged  to  Lydia's  master, 
Squire  Jameston.  Snapping  the  cover  to  and 
fro,  delighted  with  his  new  toy,  the  child  said, 
"  Mommer  gave  me  this  to  keep  for  my  glass 


The  Old  South.  235 

marbles  she's  going  to  send  me  from  Tomshear. 
Oh,  isn't  mommer  coming  to  put  me  to  bed  to 
night  ?  Mommer,  please  come  !  I  won't  go  to 
sleep  till  you  do,"  his  little  voice  quivering  with 
emotion. 

A  new  life  dawned  upon  us, — a  veritable  reality 
filled  with  bitter  experiences  and  hardships.  We 
faced  stern  facts  with  the  energy  of  young  minds, 
feeling  that  our  future  was  what  we  had  to  deal 
with,  not  the  past. 

At  the  quaint  little  place  Ducpon,  Revilo  held 
the  office  of  Internal  Revenue  Collector.  A  stage 
coach  occasionally  passed,  dropping  a  mail  bag, 
so  bringing  us  in  touch  with  the  world  again. 

The  post-office,  we  were  told,  was  originally 
called  Philanteska,  an  Indian  name  for  the  river 
near  by,  on  the  banks  of  which  the  red  men  once 
fished  and  hunted  unmolested  by  whites.  The 
story  is,  that  the  pioneer  settlers,  finding  the 
name  difficult  to  spell,  as  well  as  to  pronounce, 
called  a  meeting  to  discuss  a  change  of  name.  A 
full  attendance  was  present,  with  Squire  Weeks 
in  the  chair.  Tossing  his  hat  behind  him  he 
brought  his  fist  down  on  the  table.  "  Gentle 
men,"  said  he,  "  the  object  of  comin'  togedder  is 
to  make  writin'  easy.  There  is  a  blame  lot  of 
complaint  in  the  settlement  ober  this  blarsted 
name  Pilantesca,  brought  here  by  red  tomahawk 


236  Lyddy:  A  Tale  of 

Injins.  This  court  is  open  for  suggestions  from 
de  benches.  Don't  be  backward  in  speken  your 
mind,  only  don't  all  riz  to  once." 

A  scrawney  pineland  cracker  rose.  "  Is  it  a 
name  you  is  a  askin'  for  ?  Ever  sense  I  moved  to 
these  diggins  dis  post-office  has  been  a  tarrifica- 
tion  to  my  soul.  Some  words  is  hard  to  articu 
late,  but  this  Pilantesca  beats  my  time  for  spellen'. 
My  boy  Bill  is  at  a  highfaluten  town  school ;  he 
thinks  he  knows  more  than  a  judge,  an'  writes  wid 
a  steel  pen.  A  gander's  quill  is  good  'nough  for 
the  parson  an'  me.  I  'lows  when  dis  post-office 
slips  from  the  pint  of  Bill's  writin'  stick,  it's  time 
for  him  to  cum  home  an'  help  me  fight  rampa- 
cious  grass  in  the  corn-fields.  This  larned  boy  has 
writ  for  us  to  name  the  place  Cypress  Lake,  after 
the  wild  duck  pon'  near  by. 

Down  came  the  speaker's  fist :  "  The  word 
Cypress  is  afore  the  meeten." 

Mounting  a  bench,  a  bow-legged  dwarf  lifted 
his  hat,  which  he  had  neglected  to  remove.  "  Mr. 
Cheer,  our  larned  brother  brings  forth  a  conjec- 
tion.  I  is  ransacking  my  brain  to  spell  Cypress. 
Is  it  a  dictionaire  word  ?" 

Again  the  room  reverberated  from  the  force  of 
another  blow  on  the  table.  "  The  brother  with 
the  larned  son  will  tell  this  here  meeten  the  best 
way  to  spell  Cypress,"  said  the  chairman. 


The  Old  South.  237 

Bill's  father  looked  round,  then  rose  slowly, 
yawning  by  way  of  gaining  time.  "  That  rascal," 
said  he,  "  writ  the  word  on  a  scrap  of  paper,  but 
I'll  be  blowed  if  I  kin  find  it."  Each  of  his 
pockets  he  turned  wrongside  out,  scattering  rusty 
nails,  twists  of  tobacco,  a  jack-knife,  and  broken 
links  of  an  ox-chain.  "  Mr.  Speaker,"  he  cried, 
"  you  may  hang  me  to  a  tree-limb  if  there  ain't 
a  y  in  the  word,  to  middle  or  at  the  tail  end,  I 
swear  I  don't  know." 

The  herb  doctor  of  the  settlement  sat  on  the 
front  seat,  His  shaggy  overhanging  brows,  un 
shaven  face,  and  wealth  of  sun-faded  locks  falling 
about  his  shoulders,  added  to  the  dignity  of  his 
massive  figure.  Running  his  hand  through  his 
hair,  part  of  which  remained  on  end,  he  drawled 
out,  ''  If  the  chair  will  accept  my  conception  of 
this  intricate  trouble,  I'll  move  and  second  that 
we  have  a  division.  The  lion's  share  of  a  name 
may  be  stuck  on  the  post-office  door.  Then,  sir, 
I  names  this  new-born  place  Ducpon."  He 
counted  the  six  letters  on  his  fingers.  "No  one 
will  git  sick  spellen  it." 

Down  came  the  chairman's  fist.  "  Gentlemen, 
it's  moved  an'  seconded.  Those  in  favor,  say 
Due  ;  those  opposed,  Cypress."  With  a  look  of 
intense  satisfaction  he  counted  the  hands  up 
lifted.  "  The  Due's  has  it,"  he  yelled.  "  Now, 


238  Lyddy :  A  Tale  of 

we  gentlemen  of  edication  need  not  scratch  our 
heads,  spill  the  ink,  an'  turn  goose  quills  backward 
a  spellen  this  here  post-office  ;  thanks  to  Dr.  Will 
Pitts  Premier." 

Thus  it  was  that  our  letters  were  post-marked 
"  Ducpon." 

Poverty,  with  one  decisive  stride,  had  entered 
our  dwelling.  Pride,  accordingly,  should  have 
flown  out  the  window,  as  love  is  wont  to  do. 
But  Love  wound  its  arms  a  wee  bit  tighter,  and 
pride  hid  its  head,  going  bravely  yet  blindly 
to  work. 

Our  front  steps  and  piazza,  in  the  days  of  slav 
ery  were  swept  before  breakfast.  Johanna,  our 
woman  of  all  work  at  Ducpon,  having  a  hot  meal 
to  prepare  before  eight,  had  no  time  for  early 
cleaning.  Unaccustomed  to  such  work  I,  on  the 
other  hand,  was  not  strong  enough  to  wield  a 
broom  until  fortified  with  food. 

While  I  swept  after  breakfast,  Revilo's  father, 
who  lived  across  the  way,  comforted  himself  with 
a  corncob  pipe  and  the  Virginia  weed,  his  heels 
on  the  piazza  rail,  in  genuine  Southern  style. 
Swallow  Cote,  his  home,  had  been  bought  with 
Confederate  money,  but  was  now  for  sale, — cheap 
for  green-backs. 

The  second  week  of  February  the  post  brought 
me  from  New  York  a  flaming  comic  valentine, 


The  Old  South.  239 

representing  Bridget  in  gay  dress,  arms  akimbo, 
her  broom  resting  against  the  steps.  We  were  all 
greatly  amused,  and  wondered  how  my  recently 
industrious  moods  could  be  known  in  New  York. 
Like  Brer  Rabbit,  however,  I  "  lay  low,"  awaiting 
my  turn  for  a  practical  joke. 

A  northern  man  was  visiting  Colonel  Ross  in 
the  neighbourhood,  for  the  express  purpose  of  in 
vesting  in  southern  lands.  Almost  every  estate 
below  Mason  and  Dixon's  line  at  that  date  was  for 
sale ;  so  the  arrival  of  a  man  with  surplus  capital 
caused  considerable  talk  in  our  community.  No 
one,  however,  knew  the  newcomer's  name.  A 
few  spoke  of  him  as  Colonel  Humphries,  others  as 
Major  Humbert,  of  Bull  Run  fame. 

March  winds  expended  their  fury,  and  Judge 
Floyd  convened  the  spring  term  of  Court  at  Old 
Town,  as  in  days  before  the  war.  Colonel  Bee — 
Revilo's  father,  once  a  prominent  lawyer  of  Sav- 
ernake — was  retained  by  Widow  Lamb  to  defend 
her  case.  There  was  still  a  chill  in  the  night  air, 
endangering  young  cotton  and  corn,  making 
lawyer's  fees,  accordingly,  more  doubtful.  Not 
withstanding  discouragements,  the  judge  and 
his  advocates  were  in  a  gay  mood,  sitting  around 
a  pine-knot  fire  in  the  village-tavern,  smoking 
their  corncob  pipes.  A  belated  stage-coach  rat 
tled  up  to  the  door. 


240  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

In  the  centre  of  the  table  was  one  tallow  candle, 
which  gave  but  a  feeble  light.  The  men,  how-, 
ever,  amused  each  other  by  telling  stories  of 
thrilling  adventures  or  of  funny  incidents  in  their 
recent  camp-life. 

A  shout  of  merriment  had  followed  a  yarn 
told  by  Captain  Wynn,  when  the  portly  pro 
prietor  entered  with  a  handful  of  letters  :  "  Six 
for  Judge  Floyd,  four  for  Colonel  Bee,  Captain 
Wynn,  Lieutenant  Terrell,"  and  so  on,  calling  off 
the  names  of  many  ex-Confederate  officers. 
(Smooth-flowing  ink  and  Irish  linen  had  induced 
wives  and  sweethearts  to  write  long  letters.) 

No  word  was  spoken  for  a  time.  Young  lawyer 
Terrell  was  slyly  pressing  his  fianceVs  tinted 
pages  to  his  lips,  when  Colonel  Bee  suddenly 
sprang  to  his  feet,  exultingly  waving  a  gilt-edged 
blue  sheet. 

"  Gentlemen,  I  hope  you  have  each  as  good  news 
as  I.  Before  the  war,  I  opened  business  letters 
first,  Now  it's  reversed  ;  home-news  must  be 
read  to  brace  one  up  for  disappointments  that 
follow  each  other  like  cannon  balls." 

Fixing  his  keen  black  eyes  on  young  Terrell, 
he  said : 

"  That  billet-doux  was  sweet,  was  it  ?  Well, 
wait  forty  years ;  then  the  woman  who  has  stood 
beside  you  in  cloud  or  sunshine  will  pen  words 


The  Old  South.  241 

more  tender  than  any  written  by  the  fairest 
maiden  in  her  teens.  After  reading  my  dear 
wife's  news,  this  last — real  business  letter  ! — has 
made  my  head  reel,  and  I'm  beside  myself  with 
anticipated  happiness.  Your  pockets,  like  mine, 
are  empty,  I  reckon,  and  the  thermometer  of  hope 
stands  somewhere  about  zero,  but,  with  money 
in  hand,  pleasures  will  quickly  return. 

"  Your  Honour,  won't  you  call  to  order,  that  I 
may  read  aloud  my  letter?"  He  waved  the 
tinted  pages  overhead. 

Judge  Floyd  gave  the  order. 

There  was  a  suspicion  of  tear-drops  on  the 
colonel's  glasses  ;  then  he  read  aloud  : 

The  Wigwam,  Mch.  $\st,  1866. 
Colonel  Bee : 

Dear  Sir, —  Through  a  friend  I  learn  that  Swal 
low  Cote  is  for  sale.  Kindly  let  me  know  your  low 
est  cash  price.  I  am  prepared  to  make  you  an  offer 
of  one  thousand  dollars,  with  tivo  notes  additional 
of  five  hundred  each,  payable  yearly. 

As  I'm  leaving  for  Neiv  York,  grant  me  an  early 
response. 

Yours  respectfully, 

JAMES  HUMBERT  (Major.} 

Out  of  their  seats  the  lawyers  bounded,  scream- 
16 


242  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

ing  4t  Hurrah !  Three  cheers  for  Colonel  Bee 
and  his  good  luck  !  " 

Hearing  an  unusual  stir,  the  proprietor  pushed 
open  the  door. 

"  Hello  !  "  the  men  cried,  "  hello  !  cigar-vender, 
bring  us  a  box  of  your  best  Havanas,  and  charge 
them  to  Colonel  Bee's  account." 

Corncob  pipes  were  tossed  on  the  floor :  one 
who  had  the  prospect  of  selling  southern  land 
could  supply  cigars.  Since  the  guns  of  Fort 
Sumter  belched  their  grape-shot,  these  were  the 
first  many  had  smoked. 

"  Colonel,  how  we  would  like  to  be  in  your 
shoes,  with  a  thousand  dollars  of  Uncle  Sam's 
green  paper  to  spend." 

More  than  one  begged,  "  Turn  over  your  law 
cases  to  me." 

Lawyer  Wren  patted  his  moneyless  purse. 
With  a  sigh  he  declared  that,  "hope  deferred" 
had  made  his  "  heart  sick."  "  Colonel  Bee,"  he 
continued,  "  a  few  of  your  cases  would  quite 
revive  me." 

Men  of  dignity,  like  school  children,  divided  the 
contents  of  the  cigar-box,  sniffing  the  compressed 
weed  with  an  unutterable  sensation  of  satisfac 
tion.  Lawyers  and  Methodist  parsons  have  a 
wonderful  faculty  for  enjoying  their  circuit  work. 

While  the  empty  cigar-box  blazed  in  the  fire, 


The  Old  South.  243 

these  defenders  of  the  law  bade  each  other  good 
night. 

Colonel  Bee,  to  pay  for  his  treat,  roused  the 
nodding  clerk,  and  placed  before  him  a  ten-dollar 
bill, — Widow  Lamb's  retaining  fee. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  a  fair  and  sunny 
April  day.  Parson  Hill's  text — "  Whatsoever  ye 
shall  ask  in  my  name,  that  will  I  do  " — seemed 
almost  prophetic.  And  the  hymn 

"  Prayer  is  the  soul's  sincere  desire, 

Uttered  or  unexpressed  ; 
The  motion  of  a  hidden  fire 
That  trembles  in  the  breast," 

at  least  by  one,  was  sung  with  deep  feeling. 
Indeed,  many  looked  round  to  see  whose  voice 
was  so  rich  and  full.  Later  Colonel  Bee,  himself 
the  singer,  once  or  twice  took  out  his  papers  that 
day  to  be  sure  the  letter  was  there.  Early  train 
ing  restrained  him,  however,  from  reading  a  busi 
ness  communication  on  the  Sabbath. 

Young  Terrell  Sunday  afternoon  covered  pages 
with  loving  words  to  his  future  bride.  Colonel 
Bee  wrote  to  his  wife  : 

Old  Town  Tavern, 

April  ist,  1866. 
Darling  Wife : — 

Like  an  angel  of  peace  for  forty  years  you  have 


244  Lyddy:  A  Tale  of 

ministered  to  me.  God  bless  you  !  In  the  clash  of 
arms,  with  bullets  whizzing  about  the  heads  of  our 
boys,  no  murmur  escaped  your  lips.  The  Lord  be 
praised  for  such  a  wife  and  mother  !  In  our  pov 
erty,  brought  about  by  that  crazy  philanthropist, 
Abe.  Lincoln,  you  have  greeted  me  day  after  day 
^vith  a  smile.  Now,  I  hope  the  sun  is  about  to 
shine  on  our  silvering  locks.  I  haven't  many  on  the 
top  of  my  head,  but  you  have.  I  had  a  letter  last 
night  from  Maj.  Humbert, — by  the  way,  do  you 
remember  I  told  you  he  was  not  called  Col.  Hum 
phries, — offer  ing  to  buy  Swallow  Cote,  paying  one 
thousand  cash  with  two  notes  of  five  hundred  dol 
lars  each.  We  will  now  be  able  to  return  to  Saver- 
nake  and  begin  the  old  life  again. 

I  will  follow  this  letter  on  Tuesday.  Judge 
Floyd  has  agreed  to  place  Widoiv  Lamb's  case  first 
on  the  docket  to-morroiv,  so  I  may  finish  my  defense 
before  returning  to  draw  and  sign  the  papers  for 
that  rich  Yankee.  I  do  believe  I  can  bring  myself 
to  say  '  God  bless  him  !  '  the  fellow. 
Yours  till  death, 

Harvey. 

P.  S. — Say  to  my  industrious  daughter-in-law 
across  the  way,  that  I  will  present  her  with  a  new 
improved  ladies'  broom,  and  a  copper  dust-pan. 

Happiness   fires  young   life   into    excitement, 


The  Old  South.  245 

often  dispelling  sleep.  Older  minds,  on  the  con 
trary,  are  soothed  into  refreshing  slumber.  The 
colonel  not  coming  down  to  breakfast  at  the 
usual  hour  on  Monday  morning,  the  waiter — ex 
pecting  a  generous  fee — tapped  at  his  door  :  "  I's 
hot  coffee  an' bacon  an'  eggs  waiting  fer  you,  sah." 

The  judge  and  eleven  of  the  jurors  were  in 
their  places  in  court  at  nine  o'clock. 

Colonel  Bee,  hastily  arranging  his  papers,  caught 
sight  of  Major  Humbert's  letter. 

"  Before  the  twelfth  man  comes,"  he  thought, 
"  I'll  be  able  to  answer  this  for  the  noon  post." 
He  writes : 

In  Court. 
Maj.  Humbert, 

Dear  Sir : — 

/  thank  you  for  your  kind  letter  containing 
an  offer  for  Swallow  Cote,  which  I  accept.  If 
nothing  prevents  I  will  return  on  Tuesday,  prepared 
to  make  you  a  deed  of  sale, 

Yours  respectfully, 

Harvey  C.  Bee  (Colonel). 

To  be  sure  that  the  title  was  Major  and  not 
Colonel,  he  withdrew  the  letter  from  its  envelope, 
and  ran  his  eye  over  its  pages. 

Streaming   in  through   blindless  windows,  the 


246  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

clear  sunlight  revealed  the  small  word  "over,"  in 
the  left-hand  corner. 

Judge  Floyd  sounded  three  loud  raps  and  an 
nounced,  "  This  court  is  convened  !  "  after  which 
Parson  Hill  lifted  his  voice  in  prayer. 

Colonel  Bee  reverently  leaned  forward,  his 
elbows  on  the  desk,  his  forehead  clasped  by  his 
interlocked  palms. 

The  prayer  concluded,  the  clerk  arose :  "  Your 
Honour,  by  your  order  the  case  of  Bullock  versus 
Lamb  is  placed  first  on  the  docket." 

The  summing-up  of  this  noted  case  had  been 
looked  forward  to  with  keen  interest.  Savernake's 
gifted  lawyer,  with  a  new  joy  in  his  heart,  would 
now  doubtless  surpass  his  former  brilliancy  of 
speech. 

In  her  fresh  spring-mourning,  widow  Lamb  sat 
in  the  dock,  her  cheeks  rosy  red. 

Down  came  the  judge's  gavel. 

"  The  summing-up  of  the  defence  will  now  be 
heard,"  he  said. 

The  widow's  advocate  appeared  to  be  intently 
reading  an  open  letter.  He  moved  not  a  muscle. 

Tapping  the  colonel  on  the  shoulder,  lawyer 
Wren  leaned  forward  and  whispered,  "  Your  case 
is  called." 

Colonel  Bee  rose  slowly,  with  a  dazed 
look,  altogether  unlike  his  usually  animated 


The  Old  South.  247 

manner.  Without  regarding  the  judge,  he  ad 
dressed  the  twelve  men  seated  to  the  right  of 
Judge  Floyd  :  "  Gentlemen,  I  thank  you  for  your 
close  attention,  but  the  summing-up  now  is  of  no 
consequence,  for  my  daughter-in-law  has  won. 
She  has  paid  me  one  thousand  dollars,  with  two 
notes  and  interest."  Lifting  his  hand  to  his  fore 
head,  as  if  to  collect  his  thoughts,  he  bowed  to  the 
judge  and  dropped  into  his  chair,  murmuring, 
"It's  a  Valentine  versus  April  Fool." 

The  lawyers,  fearing  sudden  illness,  rushed  to 
his  side.  Terrell,  with  keen  eye,  caught  sight  of 
the  words,  "You  are  an  April  Fool,"  written  on 
the  inside  of  a  blue  gilt-edge  sheet  of  letter 
paper. 

Recalling  that  the  day  for  playing  tricks  had 
but  just  past,  he  instantly  interpreted  the  joke, — 
the  proposed  sale  of  Swallow  Cote. 

He  handed  the  letter  to  the  judge. 


248  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 


XIX. 

Sara  once  a  Good  Wife. 

"  She  doeth  little  kindnesses, 
Which  most  leave  undone  or  despise." 

LOWELL. 

DURING  the  years  of  our  refuge  in  the  piney 
woods,  our  pigs  often  brought  forth  more 
young  than  they  could  rear,  hence  the 
little  velvety  creatures  were  ruthlessly  destroyed, 
to  the  horror  of  poor  Juno.  Impoverished  as  we 
were,  there  was  always  some  waste,  so  we  agreed 
between  us  that  she  should  feed  them  on  the 
kitchen  refuse,  and  divide  the  number  of  pigs 
fattened. 

When  freedom  dawned,  Juno  had  five  fat  pigs 
almost  ready  for  slaughter.  Lydia  and  her  family 
would  at  least  have  meat  for  a  time. 

Robin  smacked  his  lips  in  anticipation  of  blood 
pudding,  spare  ribs,  and  sausages. 

Matthew,  our  man  of  all  work,  one  afternoon 
presented  his  brother,  a  "  Mr.  White  "  who  was 
buying  pigs.  "  Mr.  White  "  held  in  his  hand  a 
great  roll  of  greenbacks. 


The  Old  South.  249 

Eve  was  tempted  beyond  her  powers  of  resist 
ance,  and  so  was  I.  Our  home  at  Ducpon  was 
barren  of  every  comfort,  and  the  mere  sight  of 
money  tempted  me  to  sell,  so  when  "  Mr.  White  " 
made  a  formal  offer  of  fifty  dollars  for  my  pigs,  I 
accepted  it.  Tea  cups,  chairs,  and  warm  under 
wear  were  now  within  reach. 

Revilo  had  made  no  end  of  fun  of  the  copartner 
ship  between  Juno  and  me.  Now  he  realised 
that  unless  he  could  produce  a  like  amount  of 
negotiable  money  for  the  privilege  of  shedding 
swine's  blood,  the  bacon  would  hang  in  another's 
smoke-house. 

The  bargain  with  "  Mr.  White  " — whose  face 
was  as  black  as  a  coal — was  hardly  made  when 
my  husband  tilted  his  creaking  old  rocking-chair 
forward,  whispering,  "  Your  pigs  were  worth  at 
least  seventy-five  dollars." 

"Why,  then,  did  you  let  me  take  fifty  if  I 
could  have  gotten  more." 

"  You  never  consulted  me  in  your  anxiety  to 
finger  those  dirty  bills.  I  have  learned  by  ex 
perience  never  to  give  a  woman  advice  unless  she 
requests  it." 

Matthew  and  his  guest  had  a  hearty  supper  in 
our  kitchen,  and  "  Mr.  White's  "  horse  a  good  feed 
in  the  stable.  Matthew  tapped  at  the  door  about 
bed-time.  "  Please,  sah,  kin  Mr.  White  spend  de 


250  Lyddy :  A  Tale  of 

night  wid  me.  De  pigs  ain't  come  up  yit ;  dey 
ranges  a  good  way  eaten  pine-mas.'  ' 

"  All  right,  Matthew,"  I  called.  "  The  receipt 
will  be  written  and  signed  when  you  bring  the 
money." 

At  the  prospect  of  comforts  in  the  house  our 
hopes  revived,  even  as  grass  springs  into  fresh  life 
after  a  spell  of  drought. 

We  listened,  at  early  dawn,  for  the  squeal  of 
pigs,  which — unlike  lambs  led  to  the  slaughter — 
sound  their  own  death-knell. 

The  receipt  I  had  signed  lay  on  our  table,  but 
no  one  came  for  it :  Matthew  had  gone  early  in 
search  of  the  pigs. 

"  Mr.  White,"  after  a  hasty  breakfast,  left  word 
with  Johanna  that  he  would  return  in  two  days. 
Matthew  reached  home  at  noon,  on  his  face  a 
weary  look;  his  search  had  been  fruitless.  He 
seemed  sure,  however,  that  the  pigs  were  taken  up 
by  some  one  for  a  reward,  as  had  been  the  case 
with  our  pet  pony  Ella. 

"  Mr.  White  "  returned  to  Pine  Knot  twice  the 
following  week,  but  each  time  taking  away  with 
him  his  soiled  greenbacks. 

Two  weeks  after  his  last  visit  I  was  called  to 
the  door  one  night.  Sam,  a  former  slave  at  Swal 
low  Cote,  desired  to  speak  with  me. 

As    solemnly  as  if   kissing   a   Bible,  he  said : 


The  Old  South.  251 

"  Missy,  it  take  niggers  fer  ter  ketch  up  wid  nig 
gers.  Hearin'  'bout  de  loss  o'  your  bacon  hogs,  I's 
spotted  a  fellow  singin'  hallelujah  in  Zion's  gate. 
He  has  most  on  de  time  a  greasy  mouth ;  we 
honest  folks  is  bleeged  now  ter  eat  dry  hoecake, 
caise  we  has  no  massa  ter  feed  us.  In  conji- 
tation  I  has  come  to  de  conclus  dat  I  kin  put  my 
finger-tips  on  your  salted  meat." 

Thinking  of  my  teacups,  I  assured  Sam  he 
would  be  well  rewarded  if  he  found  my  pigs,  dead 
or  alive. 

"  It's  not  fer  money  I  does  it,  ma'am  ;  it's  fer 
ole  time  sake." 

"  Let  it  be  as  you  wish,  only  find  them." 

Sam  scratched  his  head,  jerked  up  his  suspend 
ers,  and  showed  plainly  that  there  was  something 
more  he  wished  to  confide. 

"  Missy,  as  I  has  de  'tention  ter  bring  you 
comf'ting  news,  can't  you  loan  me  a  dollar?  Den 
I  kin  gib  de  hunt  'tire  justice.  It's  a  delicate 
matter,  an'  I  mus'  handle  it  like  a  new-born  baby, 
an'  so  can't  go  ter  my  work  ter-morrow,  when  I 
mus'  split  rails  ter  git  some  cash,  caise  if  dere's  a 
pound  o'  meat  in  de  cabin  I  don't  know  it,  nor  a 
quart  ob  meal  in  de  cupboard.  By  de  next  day 
your  pigs  may  be  carted  off  ter  Old  Town.  I 
dassent  go  home  empty-handed  an'  pull  de  latch- 
string.  Sara  used  ter  be  a  good  wife  in  Slavery 


252  Lyddy :  A  Tale  of 

rime.  Now  de  fus  word  is,  '  What's  you  got  ter 
eat  ?  '  Colonel  Ross  is  off'ring  fifty  cents  a  day 
fer  wemen.  "When  I  'ludes  ter  it,  Sara  glares  at 
me  an'  says :  '  Is  you  forgot  Mars  Abe  Linkum 
set  we  free  ?  We  is  ter  be  ladies  like  de  w'ite  foks. 
Does  you  want  your  wife  ter  work  like  a  slave 
nigger?  Massa's  gals  don't  hoe  in  de  co'nfields. 
I's  free  as  dey  is,  an*  don't  'ten'  ter  chop  cotton  or 
co'n  fer  no  w'ite  man.  I's  a  free  lady.  I'll  cook  an' 
help  eat  what  you  brings,  will  wash  your  clo's 
if  dey  ain't  too  bloody  wid  butcherin',  an' if  you 
comes  wid  a  chicken  or  watermillion  I'll  put  a 
patch  in  your  breeches.  Write  down  in  your  book, 
Sam,  Sara's  a  slave  no  longer.  I's  waitin'  now 
ter  eat  wid  gold  spoons,  dat  I  is.'  I  has  a  wife 
like  dat  now,  ma'am." 

Sam  left  my  door  with  a  dollar  on  account. 

Days  and  weeks  passed,  as  they  usually  pass  in 
rural  districts.  Our  plant  of  hope  had  withered. 
Once  more,  however,  Sam  asked  for  a  confidence. 
"  I  find  dese  bristles  in  de  woods,"  he  whispered, 
handing  me  a  small  paper  package  ;  "  de  groun' 
is  red  wid  blood.  Keep  quiet,  ma'am,  I  has  my 
eyes  on  a  shoutin'  chu'ch  sinner;  he's  out  o' 
work,  but  his  mouth  is  greasy  all  de  same.  I 
dassent  tell  his  name  yit,  caise  free  niggers  don't 
take  no  'count  of  a  man's  life,  poppin'  a  fellow 
back  of  he  head  plum*  ter  kingdom  come." 


The  Old  South.  253 

In  the  piney  woods,  all  around  the  altar  of 
sacrifice,  valuable  blood  had  been  shed,  yet  no 
gleam  of  light  revealed  the  fact  to  me. 

The  kitchen  garden  was  forced  into  life  by  a 
southern  sun  ;  and  spring  advanced.  Matthew 
should  be  planting  peas  and  beans.  I  called 
him. 

Johanna  said  she  had  not  seen  him.  In  fact, 
he  was  in  his  cabin,  tossing  with  a  high  fever.  Ac 
cordingly,  we  summoned  a  doctor  and  a  coloured 
nurse,  ourselves  each  day  ministering  to  his 
needs. 

One  afternoon,  finding  him  partly  conscious, 
I  repeated  in  his  hearing  a  few  Scripture  texts. 

Great  black  hands  reached  out  and  a  pitiful 
wail  escaped  his  parched  lips:  "  I  can't  die!  Do, 
Miss  Bee,  forgive  me  ?  " 

"  Be  calm,  Matthew,"  said  I.  "  Ask  God's  for 
giveness,  not  mine." 

But  he  insisted.  "  Say  you  forgive  me,  ma'am. 
Oh,  I  can't  die  till  I  tell  you  !  Uncle  Sam  an' 
me  kill  your  pigs  an'  Mr.  White  carted  de  meat 
to  Hatville.  Oh,  forgive  me  !  " 

His  penitence  touched  me,  as  I  was  sure  that 
his  end  was  approaching.  He  received  my  full 
and  free  pardon.  Exhausted,  he  then  swooned 
into  unconsciousness. 

Much  to  the  doctor's  astonishment,  the  next 


254  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

day  he  found  Matthew  had  passed  the  crisis — he 
would  live.  No  reference  was  made  to  his  con- 
fession  ;  we  waited  for  his  recovery. 

He  was  missed  from  his  cabin  one  morning. 
Wheel-tracks  showed  that  he  had  been  taken 
away  by  night,  with  his  possessions.  We  had 
physician  and  nurse  to  pay.  His  wages,  too,  he 
had  drawn  in  full  before  his  illness, — "  Mr. 
White's "  roll  of  money  possibly. 

Sam  swore  to  his  innocence :  "  Dat  fool  fellow 
dyin'  got  my  name  suffused  wid  some  no  'count 
rascal.  Don't  'sociate  your  fam'ly  niggers  wid 
such  shameful  'ceedings." 

I  believed  him. 

Swallow  Cote  was  finally  sold.  Colonel  Bee, 
the  silvery-haired  lawyer,  who  effected  the  sale, 
sent  to  me,  as  a  mark  of  sympathy,  a  gift  of 
plates,  platters,  cups,  and  saucers  of  one  hue ; 
also  a  rocking-chair  and  dust-pan. 


The  Old  South.  255 


XX. 

I,ydia  and  Marlborough  Meet. 

"  Dig  the  grave  and  let  me  lie 
Glad  did  I  live  and  gladly  die." 

— R.  L.  STEVENSON. 

THE  first  news  we  received  of  Lydia,  came 
in  a  letter  written  by  a  lady  in  Tomshear. 
She  tried  to  write  it  as  nearly  as  possible 
according  to  Lydia's  dictation. 

Tomshear,  Ga.,  Jan.y  1866. 
My  dear  Missy, 

An'  my  Sonnie, 

When  you  drove  off  I  went  straight  in  de 
cabin  an'  turned  de  button.  I  didn't  want  ter  see 
nobody.  I  sat  on  de  bare  floor  huggiri  my  corncob 
soldier  Sonnie  told  me  ter  keep,  kissin  dose  clay 
marbles  shinin  wid  his  finger-marks.  Outside 
Juno  was  breakin  her  heart  cryin  "  Ma,  Bro1 
Robin  is  come,  an'  your  things  is  fling  out  on  de 
flo' ."  I  make  answer  :  '  My  byadier  silk  is  all  I 
cares  fer."  Bro'  Robin  hit  his  fist  on  de  dooe.  "  I's 
hongry"  says  he,  "  /  wants  my  dinner."  I  open  de 


256  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

dooe,  cooked  de  hoecake  an'  tried  ter  eat ;  but  it 
lodged  'long  side  my  palate.  De  mens  built  a  rail 
fence  round  de  three  graves,  den  we  all  started  fer 
Toms/tear,  wid  my  mule  an'  wagon  massa  give  me. 
I  couldn't  walk  far,  so  had  ter  ride  wid  de  chil- 
luns,  fry  in  pans  an'  boxes.  It  want  easy  goin 
like  when  "  my  boy  "  was  settin  in  my  lap  in  de 
carriage.  C ampin*  out  has  give  me  rhumatis  in 
my  legs.  I'm  crippled  a  good  part  of  de  time.  I 
trembles  fer  ter-morrow  an  next  day  caise  Bro 
Robin  ain't  patient  like  Bro  Molbro.  If  dey  had 
only  left  me  under  de  pines  !  I  knows  how  Miss 
Dodo  will  trouble  when  she  hears  mommer  aint 
•well.  I  am  trying  not  ter  fret.  Bro'  Robin  an* 
Dick  has  hired  a  tumblerdown  shanty.  I  aint 
used  ter  live  in  a  house  wid  so  many ;  not  ter  tell 
'bout  de  dirty  do's  folks  give  us  ter  wash  an 
iron.  Dick 's  pa  is  gifting  worse,  but  Juno  cant 
travel.  Mars  Dr.  Sam  is  here,  an'  promises  ter 
'tend  her.  He  says  it  makes  him  fink  o'  Green 
Forest  ter  see  us.  Juno  frets  lots ;  she  says  she 
knows  she's  going  ter  die. 

Sonnie,  write  me  a  letter,  an'  put  a  kiss  so 
mommer  kin  press  her  lips  on  de  spot  where  her 
baby's  mouth  was.  Have  you  got  pants  on  yit  ? 
Send  them  ter  meter  wash.  I'll  flute  de  ruffles 
missy  said  she  was  *  tending  ter  put  up  de  outside 
seams. 


The  Old  South.  257 

De  folks  all  sends  heap  a  howdy. 

I's  longin  fer  your  picture,  Sonnie.  Tell  massa 
de  bliri  mule  pulled  like  a  man  on  de  long  heavy 
roads  cut  up  by  Yankees  big  wagons.  We  came 
near  upsettin  lots  o1  times.  I 's  hoping  ter  go  ter 
Green  Forest,  so  I  keeps  de  mule  tied  behin  de 
shanty.  It  stamps  so  hard  sometimes  I  cant  sleep. 
We  dassent  turn  it  loose  ter  graze,  so  many  free 
niggers  is  roamin  round.  Bro  Molbro  lias  jes  lost 
his  youngest  boy.  Ts  longin  ter  console  him  ;  he's 
livin  at  Lament's,  his  mother  'tending  ter  de  chil- 
luns.  This  letter  is  writ  from  the  heart  of 
Your  loving  mommer, 

Lyddy." 

Our  fears  were  confirmed,  Robin's  family  were 
now  in  a  great  measure  dependent  upon  money 
earned  by  our  nurse.  Having  climbed  her  moun 
tain  of  life,  with  no  hard  work  to  do,  this  constant 
drudgery  at  the  wash-tub  hastened  her  down  the 
plane.  We  were  powerless,  save  to  spare  what 
money  we  could  from  my  husband's  meagre 
salary. 

Month  after  month  accounts  grew  more  depress 
ing.  When  Dick  and  Juno's  infant,  Josephine, 
was  old  enough  to  travel,  they  set  out  for  Siberty 
County. 

Jim  lived  but  a  short  time  after  their  arrival. 
'7 


258  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

Georgia  now  married  Abel.  James  was  working 
on  the  railroad. 

When  General  Grant  issued  his  Ironclad  Oath, 
Revilo  returned  his  unsigned,  and  of  course  lost 
his  position  as  a  government  official.  This  pre 
vented  us  from  assisting  Lydia  with  money. 

Removing  to  northern  Georgia,  we  wrote  for 
her  to  come  to  us,  hoping  that  the  bracing  air 
would  invigorate  her.  We  offered  to  share  with 
her  our  last  crumb. 

Her  reply  showed  the  true  devotion  that  per' 
meated  her  soul. 

August,  1866. 
My  dear  Massa  : — 

/  would  'cept  of  your  kind  invitation  ter  come 
an'  live  wid  you,  but  mommer  can't  even  sweep  de 
steps.  My  feet  is  swollen  twice  deir  size;  ifs  all  I 
kin  do  ter  stand  long 'nought  er  iron  de  shirt-fronts 
fer  Georgia.  She  is  doiri  de  plain  ironin  well. 

De  weather  is  hotter  dan  I  eber  'members  ter  feel 
it.  If  missy  could  give  me  one  dose  of  medicine  wid 
her  own  hands,  perhaps  I'd  git  better.  Bro'  Mol- 
bro  sent  word  if  we  didn't  start  at  once  he'd  come 
heself  ter  bring  me  ter  Green  Forest,  where  Sis 
Nannie  an'  Tim  Cay  is  livin' .  How  is  your  eyes, 
massa  ?  I  knows  you  has  a  hard  time,  an  soon  "  my 
sonny  "  mus'  be  goin'  ter  college,  like  odder  young 
gen' men.  I  was  so  glad  fer  de  picture  you  sent  me. 


The  Old  South.  259 

He  is  a  sure  'nough  man  now,  in  pantaloons,  wid 
his  curls  cut. 

Tank  you,  massa,  fer  de  money.  I  kisses  eVry 
bill,  caise  I  knows  you  needs  it.  I  keeps  "  my  boys  " 
picture  under  my  pillow,  an  Bro"  Robin  says  if  I 
kiss  it  much  more  dere  wont  be  any  marks  left. 

Your  faitliful  servant, 

Lyddy. 

Months  doubled  and  tripled ;  in  fact,  it  was  a 
year  before  Lydia  started  for  the  goal  of  her  de 
sire.  From  her  bed  came  often  the  simple  strains 
of  an  old  plantation  song,  "  'Way  down  upon  de 
Swanee  riber." 

Their  tedious  journey  to  Green  Forest  was 
nearing  its  end,  when  the  mule  suddenly  stopped, 
refusing  to  go  one  step  farther  in  the  dark.  The 
party  halted  beside  the  road,  and,  lighting  a 
camp-fire,  settled  for  the  night. 

Lydia's  cup  of  delight  seemed  brimming  over, 
when,  at  dawn,  she  aroused  the  sleeping  caravan, 
"  We  is  at  Navarre,  dere  is  de  big  gate,  all  tumble 
down  !  de  avenue  plum'  full  o'  weeds.  Oh  !  I 
mus'  go  an'  see  de  house  if  it  is  in  ruin." 

Lawrence  and  Lucy  assisted  her. 

At  sight  of  the  ungainly  chimneys,  in  the  midst 
of  a  pile  of  ashes, — all  that  remained  of  a  home 


260  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

where,  thirty  years  before,  she  had  awaited  her 
master's  young  bride, — she  burst  into  tears. 

"  Gib  me  a  handful  o'  dat  sacred  ashes,  Law 
rence,  an'  promise  me  you'll  strew  it  in  my  open 
grave." 

"  Oh,  ma,  you  mus'n't  die  !  "  he  cried.  "  Do 
send  for  missy,  she  kin  make  you  well ;  you 
mus'n't  die." 

"  It's  too  late,  my  son,"  she  responded.  "  It's 
too  late.  If  I  could  have  stayed  wid  dem  I  might 
have  lived  dese  many  a  year.  Nobody  is  ter 
blame  but  me.  Don't  forgit,  Lawrence,  if  you 
plants  corn  when  de  shocks  is  brown,  you'll  have 
corn,  but,  if  you  sows  tares,  dey  won't  be  a  grain 
o'  wheat.  I  had  a  good  master  an'  missus ;  deir 
coachman  ready  ter  wait  on  me  day  an*  night ; 
yet  my  head  got  turned  by  a  yaller  free-nigger, 
he  promisin'  silks  an'  satins,  wid  my  own  house 
an'  maid.  I  hates  free  niggers.  Tears  ter  me 
massa  is  free,  not  we,  caise  we  must  work  harder 
dan  eber.  Where  is  my  freedom?  I  was  nebei 
sech  a  slave.  My  feet  is  tied  tighter  dan  Peter's 
when  de  angel  struck  de  fetters  an'  said,  '  Go 
free,  Peter ! '  It  won't  be  long  afore  an  angel 
will  break  my  bands." 

"  Ma,  what's  you  talkin'  'bout?  Do  come  an1 
lie  down  in  de  wagon  ;  hear  Bro'  Robin's  a-yellin' 
fer  us  now." 


The  Old  South.  261 

On  the  way  to  Green  Forest,  the  lazy  mule 
jogging  along,  Lydia  sang  another  old  song, 
changed  to  suit  herself : 

"We  are  almost  there,  we  are  almost  there, 
Said  a  dying  slave  as  she  neared  home ; 

Where  are  the  trees  that  grew  just  here, 

Where  is  the  moss  hanging  on  each  cone  ?" 

Nannie,  hearing  that  they  were  near  Green 
Forest,  arranged  a  pallet  beside  her  blazing 
hearth.  Tim  Cay  chopped  the  weeds  around  the 
next  cabin,  to  be  occupied  by  Robin  and  his 
family. 

Scarcely  waiting  to  greet  any  of  her  former 
associates  on  her  arrival,  Lydia  cried,  "  Dis  is  not 
my  massa's  Green  Forest.  Whey  is  we  house  wid 
de  yaller  brick  steps?  Whey  is  Uncle  Frank's 
chu'ch  ?  Whey  is  de  gin-house  where  '  my  chil- 
luns '  played  in  de  loose  cotton  ?  Is  my  eyes 
blin',  Sis'  Nannie?  Dis  is  not  we  Green  Grove. 
I  don't  smell  magnolias,  jassemine  an'  orange 
blossoms.  Is  not  one  left  ter  show  where  my 
cabin  stood  wid  de  bell-rope  stretchin'  'cross  ter 
de  nuss'ry  ?  Bro'  Molbro  an'  me'll  never  sit  under 
we  own  vine  an'  fig-tree  ag'in  !  " 

The  day  wore  on.  Robin  and  Tim  were  busy 
patching  the  roof  of  Machiah's  house,  when  a 
tall,  slender  black  man,  his  head  tinged  with  grey, 
quietly  entered  Nannie's  cabin.  No  one  was  in 


262  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

but  a  woman  asleep  on  a  pallet, — a  mere  shadow 
of  her  former  self.  He  knelt,  winding  his  arms 
about  her.  Startled,  she  returned  the  embrace  : 
"  De  Lord's  name  be  praised !  If  here  ain't  Bro' 
Molbro ! " 

At  that  inopportune  moment  Robin  flung  open 
the  door,  not  knowing  of  his  brother's  arrival. 

"Is  dat  de  way  you  kin  use  your  arms?  I 
t'ought  you  was  crippled  wid  rhumatis,  an'  dis 
long  time  ain't  washed  a  pocket-henkerchief  fer 
a  fellow.  Tears  to  me  you's  clutchin'  dat  shirt- 
collar  purty  tight." 

"  Oh,  Bro'  Robin,"  and  her  arms  dropped  on 
her  breast,  "  can't  you  'low  me  one  minute's  joy 
wid  we  coachman  ?  We  growed  up  togedder  ;  we 
loved  massa  an  he  bride.  Bro'  Molbro's  voice 
brings  my  w'ite  chilluns  runnin'  into  my  arms,  de 
two  gals  cryin'  in  de  rice-field  trunk,  Tom  an' 
Jerry  switchin'  deir  tails  an'  stampin'  by  de  saw 
mill.  Dose  days  we  was  sittin'  under  we  own 
vine  an'  fig-tree.  Now  we's  both  suff'rin'.  But 
it  won't  be  long ;  spare  me  one  leedle  hour  ob  joy, 
Bro'  Robin." 

"  Have  all  you  want ;  I  has  no  'jection,  you's  no 
'count  in  de  cabin.  You  might  go  to  Lament's, 
caise  Flora  ain't  dere  ter  talk  'bout  your  black 
pair  of  wings." 

Springing  to  his  feet,  Marlborough  shook  his 


The  Old  South.  263 

fist  in  his  brother's  face  :  "  I  wish  I'd  smashed 
your  skull  fer  you  years  ago,"  he  cried.  "  Ter 
t'ink  you  dares  call  my  Lyddy  your  wife  !  Git 
out  o'  dis  room  or  I'll  poun'  your  head  into  jelly." 

"  Put  de  weight  o'  your  toe-nail  on  me  an' 
you'll  fin'  your  match.  Your  hair  is  grey,  an'  I's 
a  free  nigger." 

The  underpinning  giving  way,  Tim  Cay  called 
for  assistance, — leaving  the  lovers  alone. 

"  Lyddy,  my  darlen,  com'  wid  me  to  Lament's  ; 
be  my  wife  ;  I'll  take  care  of  you,"  said  Marl- 
borough  ;  "gib  you  a  comf'table  home  an'  my  gal 
Flora  will  wait  on  you  like  a  maid.  I  has  no 
carnage  nor  silk  frocks  ter  offer,  but  when  you 
can't  walk  I'll  take  you  in  my  strong  arms. 
Lyddy,  I  has  loved  you  all  my  life.  If  marriages 
is  made  in  heaven,  like  massa  used  to  read,  why 
is  dis  ring  " — breaking  the  threads  holding  it  in 
his  waistcoat  front — "  been  waitin'  fer  ober  twenty 
years  ter  go  on  your  finger?  It  has  'Lyddy' 
writ  inside,  so  soap  an'  water  won't  wash  it  out.' 
— He  patted  her  crippled  hand. — "  Let  me  put  it 
on  now,  then  we'll  be  j'ined.  You  will  be  my 
wife." 

"  Flora  is  buried,"  she  replied,  "  but  Bro'  Robin 
is  livin',  an'  Mars  C.  C.  said  'so  long  as  you  both 
lives.  Massa  neber  broke  no  marriages.  He's 
dead  an'  gone,  but  his  voice  rings  in  my  ear. 


264  Lyddy :  A  Tale  of 

Las'  night  while  we  was  sleepin'  by  Navarre,  an' 
we  didn't  know  it,  I  dreamed  I  heard  him  call  me, 
saying,  '  Lyddy,  here's  your  young  missy.  Fs 
going  ter  look  ter  you  dat  she  neber  wants  fer 
anyt'ing.'  Den  in  my  sleep  I  hugged  her  tiny 
feet  an'  kissed  dem.  An*  her  soft  w'ite  hand  pat 
ted  me  on  my  bandanna  ;  her  sweet  voice  said, 
'  I'm  goin'  ter  be  good  ter  you  as  long  as  I  live.' 
God  knows  she  was  !  I  ain't  'shamed,  Bro'  Mol- 
bro,  ter  tell  you  I  has  always  loved  you  eber  since 
we  used  ter  sit  side  by  side  in  de  kitchen  at  Na 
varre.  'Cordin'  ter  de  angel-voice  hissin'  in  de 
chimney-jamb,  I  has  tied  myself ;  but  it  won't  be 
long.  I  often  hears  rumblin'  charyot  wheels,  so 
I  is  sure  de  winged  horses  is  on  de  way.  When 
my  strength  gits  low,  take  my  finger  an*  put  on 
de  ring  wid  de  gol'  mark.  My  wings  has  been 
stained  wid  sin,  but  de  Lord  kin  wash  dem  w'ite. 
I  has  not  been  your  wife  in  de  Green  Forest,  but 
in  Paradise  Christ  will  gib  us  a  mansion  not  made 
wid  hands  ;  roamin'  dere  we'll  meet  we  w'ite  folks 
we  loved  so  well." 

She  smiled,  as  a  thought  came  to  mind.  "  Was 
dat  de  dagger  I  was  afraid  of?"  pointing  to  the 
ring.  "  There'll  be  no  fightin'  dere  ;  no  tears,  no 
separations." 

Clasping  her  wasted  form  to  his  heart  Marl- 
borough  kissed  her.  "  Lyddy,  my  heart's  wife, . 


The  Old  South.  265 

wid  pure  w'ite  wings,  I'll  keep  de  ring  here," — 
tapping  his  waistcoat — "till  de  sweet  charyot 
swings  low.  Dat  word  massa  gave  us,  '  God  is 
love',  is  neber  out  o'  my  min'.  When  we  meets 
in  Paradise  we'll  tell  him  we  has  found  it  'strue." 


266  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 


XXI. 

A  Marriage  in  Heaven. 

"A  soul  as  white  as  heaven." 

BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER. 

THE  Utopian  days  of  Green  Forest  were 
past ;  its  principal  buildings  in  ashes. 
The  sawmill,  too,  was  fallen  into  decay, 
the  door  of  the  "  Jewish  Synagogue  "  lay  on  the 
ground,  its  hinges  rusty  and  weather-beaten. 
Here  and  there  a  Cherokee  rose  showed  where  a 
hedge  surrounded  the  well  and  the  moss-covered 
bucket,  now  constantly  on  the  dip,  quenching  the 
thirst  of  freemen.  One  narrow  trodden  path,  in 
the  midst  of  rank  weeds,  marked  where  bare 
little  black  feet  trotted  back  and  forth  with 
wooden  pails  and  piggins. 

Enriched  with  soldier  and  negro  bones  a  line 
of  cedars,  well  matured,  blended  rich  green  with 
silvery  grey  moss. 

Lydia  was  not  strong  enough  to  roam  in  the 
grove.  Marlborough  wheeled  her  once  in  a  bar 
row  to  where  tall  chimneys  stood,  sentinel-like 


The  Old  South.  267 

over  the  past.  On  a  charred  rafter  they  sat  chat 
ting  of  bygone  happiness,  when  food  and  raiment 
were  had  for  the  mere  acceptance.  In  weakness, 
her  head  rested  upon  her  lover's  shoulder.  Over 
head,  as  gayly  as  ever,  mocking  birds  sang  as  they 
had  sung  twenty  years  before.  With  his  soul's 
wife  in  his  arms,  Marlborough  was  happier  than 
he  had  been  for  years.  Yet  he  felt  sure  Lydia 
could  not  last  many  weeks. 

"I  was  de  happiest  man  in  Siberty  County  be 
fore  Marmaduke  came  to  plaster  dese  walls,"  he 
said. 

Toying  in  the  debris,  he  unearthed  an  iron  nut 
cracker.  Fire  had  melted  its  silver  coating. 

"  Bro'  Marlbro,"  Lydia  asked,  "  does  you, 
'member  de  night  massa  came  from  Savernake 
wid  a  box  o*  silber?  Dis  was  in  it;  he  neber 
forgot  us ;  you  had  a  silber-handle  carriage-whip, 
an'  I  a  new  cradle  fer  '  my  baby  '  "  ; — she  thought 
for  a  moment ; — "  it  was  my  Letha,  wid  de  black 
ringlets  on  her  pretty  head.  Has  all  dat  silber 
turned  to  ashes  ?" 

"  Neber  min',  my  Lyddy,  in  de  mansions  not 
made  wid  han's  we  won't  want  gold  or  silber. 
Mars  C.  C.  said  de  streets  was  paved  wid  crystals 
sparklin'  like  di'monds,  an'  God  sittin'  on  a  great 
w'ite  t'rone." 

Drawing    from    her    bosom    a    well-thumbed 


268  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

carte-de-visite  photograph,  Lydia  covered  it  with 
kisses. 

"  You  neber  saw  my  little  man  in  frilled  panta 
loons,  after  he  could  talk  an'  tell  his  mommer  how 
much  he  loved  her.  I  tried  not  terlet  Miss  Dodo 
know  how  my  heart  was  breakin'  caise  Bro'  Robin 
wouldn't  let  me  stay.  I  opened  de  cabin  dooe 
eb'ry  mornin'  wid  a  laugh  on  my  face ;  but  in 
side  was  tears  ready  ter  fall  like  rain.  Juno  has 
promised  ter  put  my  byadier  silk  on  me,  an'  you 
my  ring  wid  de  gol'  mark,  den  lay  dis  pictur'  an' 
my  corncob  soldier  jes  where  Sonnie's  golden 
curls  used  ter  lie.  De  clay  marbles" — counting 
one  by  one  from  her  pocket — "  put  dem  in  de 
folds  of  my  bur'yal  robe.  Wheel  me  home,  Bro' 
Molbro,  I  must  lay  me  down  ter  sleep,  I'm  so 
tired." 

Not  many  days  after,  Juno,  with  Boy  leaning 
on  her  knee,  rubbed  her  mother's  cold  hands. 
But  no  friction  could  warm  them.  Stroking  her 
chill  brow,  Marlborough  sat  silent,  great  tear-drops 
running  down  his  black  cheeks.  Nannie  stirred 
a  pot  of  gruel,  hoping  to  revive  her  sister-in-law. 
Dazed  by  a  strange  scene  of  approaching  disso 
lution,  Edward  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  ;  while 
outside,  Lawrence  hurriedly  cut  wood  to  warm 
the  room. 

"  Is  dis  you,  Juno  ?  "  Lydia  said  in  a  faint  voice. 


The  Old  South.  269 

"  Hold  ma's  hand.  Molbro," — and  she  tried  to 
look  into  his  face, — "  I  hears  de  rumblin'  o' 
charyot  wheels, — de  sweet  charyot.  Sissy,  Boy," 
— then  for  a  moment  all  was  still — "  my  pic-tur'. 
My  sold-ier — my  marbles." 

Encircling  her  form  with  his  left  arm,  his  lips 
near  hers,  Marlborough  removed  Lucy's  ring  from 
her  finger  and  tossed  it  into  the  fire.  In  its  place 
he  put  one  marred  by  contact  with  intense  heat. 
"  Lyddy,  my  wife,  my  angel,  wid  snow-w'ite  wings 
tipped  wid  silber,"  he  whispered,  "you  are  mine, 
forever  mine,  fer  God  is  love  !  " 

Nannie  asked,  "Shall  I  call  Bro'  Robin?" 

With  one  word  Marlborough  forbade  her. 

Braced  by  that  unaccountable  energy  that  fre 
quently  proceeds  dissolution,  Lydia  lifted  her  left 
hand  and  kissed  the  ring.  In  a  voice  scarcely 
audible,  she  spoke  :  "  As  de  eyes  of  servants  look 
ter  de  hand  of  deir  master,  an'  de  eyes  of  a  maid 
ter  de  hand  of  her  mistress,  so,  Lord,  my  eyes  is 
waitin'  on  dee.  "Molbro,  my  husband,  in  heaven 
we'll  meet !  "  A  smile  showed  her  double  row  of 
pearly  teeth.  Her  inanimate  body  rested  in  her 
lover's  warm  embrace. 

Juno  and  Lawrence  insisted  that  "  if  missy  had 
given  Ma  medicine  wid  her  own  han's,  she 
wouldn't  'a'  died." 

Lydia  lay  stretched   upon  a  deal   bench,  her 


270  Lyddy :  A  Tale  of 

hands  enfolding  a  white  boy's  picture,  a  sheet 
thrown  lightly  over  her  body.  Her  stiffened  form 
was  placed  in  a  rude  coffin  made  by  Marlborough, 
Tim  Cay,  and  Dick.  With  an  eye  to  the  future, 
Robin  touched  the  gold  band  on  her  hand. 
"  Shall  I  take  off  my  ring  ?  " 

"  Dat  ring  shall  be  buried  wid  her.  She  wished 
it."  Maryborough's  stern  voice  silenced  his 
brother. 

One  clay  marble  rolled  to  the  dead  one's  feet 
from  the  pocket  of  the  byadier  silk. 

Four  men  carried  the  coffin  to  the  cedar  enclos 
ure.  Marlborough,  with  Juno  on  his  arm,  walked 
as  chief  mourner,  Nannie  and  Robin  following. 

Frank  prayed  earnestly.  Then  he  announced 
his  text  "  from  de  songs  of  David :  '  Aldo  we 
has  been  among  de  pots,  yet  shall  we  wings  be 
like  a  dove's,  kivered  wid  silber,  de  fedders  like 
fine  gol*.  From  hence  she  shall  eat  angels'  food, 
fer  God  is  love.  De  charyots  also  o'  God  is 
thousands  of  angels,  an  He  has  sent  forth  he 
winged  host  fer  dis  dear  sister ;  she  loved  we 
master's  family  an'  his  people." 

The  body  was  lowered  into  the  grave.  Marl- 
borough  sprinkled  a  handful  of  dust  over  the 
coffin,  saying,  "  Dis  is  de  ashes  of  Navarre,  where 
we  nurse  was  once  so  happy.  Now  she's  wid  her 
master  an'  his  bride.  Friends,  she  was  my  wife 


The  Old  South.  271 

by  rights.  When  de  sweet  charyot  swings  low 
fer  me,  I  hopes  ter  lie  here  'longside  de  purest 
woman  dat  eber  lived.  I  has  waited  fer  twenty 
years.  Now  she's  got  my  ring  on  wid  a  name 
writ  inside  wid  a  pen  of  fire.  In  heaven  Lyddy 
is  my  wife.  God  is  love ;  blessed  is  His  name. 
Amen  !  " 

"Amen  !  Amen  !  "  responded  the  crowd,  and 
sobs  heaved  from  many  breasts. 

Marlborough's  undying  love  was  in  strange  con 
trast  to  Robin's  conduct.  In  a  few  weeks  the 
man,  whom  a  seeming  supernatural  influence 
had  forced  Lydia  to  marry,  took  to  his  cabin 
another  wife,  Hetty,  widow  of  Jim. 

Marlborough's  face  had  been  overcast  for  years. 
Now  a  deeper  gloom  settled  there.  Only  once 
did  it  become  radiant ;  and  that  was  when,  at 
Lament's,  his  daughter  Flora  and  Lawrence  were 
pronounced  man  and  wife. 

"  My  chilluns,"  said  he,  "  de  Lord  gib  you  de 
joy  Lyddy  an*  me  should've  had." 

The  blossoms  that  perfumed  the  air  at  Green 
Forest  are  all  dead.  Not  one  green  offshoot 
of  the  myrtle  remains.  Lydia's  master  and 
"  baby  boy  "  survived  her  but  a  few  years.  And 
while  "  no  marble  marks  her  couch  of  lowly  sleep," 
yet  in  the  hearts  of  her  "  w'ite  chilluns,"  down  to 
their  grandchildren,  her  name  is  forever  enshrined. 


272  Lyddy :  A  Tale  of 


XXII. 
Green  Forest  Sold  at  Auction. 

u  Calm  'mid  the  bewild'ring  cry, 
Confident  of  victory." 

THE   taxes  on  Green  Forest  land,  year  by 
year,  doubled  and  increased.     Letha  and 
I,  joint-owners   in   our  widowhood,  were 
unable    to    cancel    these    formidable    amounts. 
Hence,  a  Federal  tax-collector  one  morning  gal 
loped  through  the  tangled  moss-grown    avenue 
and  nailed  in  conspicuous  places  three  printed 
bills. 

John,  a  more  capable  rail-splitter  than  scholar, 
tried  to  decipher  the  words,  perspiring  freely  over 
the  effort.  "  By  Jingo,"  he  cried,  "  dem  blue- 
coats  is  offerin'  we  plantation  fer  sale  !  Dey 
'tend  ter  turn  de  las'  one  o'  us  out  dese  cabins !  " 
Crowds  gathered  about  him,  gazing  with  un 
tutored  eyes  upon  the  hieroglyphics.  No  one 
thought  of  buying;  it  was  beyond  their  ken. 
Tim  Cay,  however,  consulted  with  Maryborough 
as  to  their  best  course  if  evicted. 


The  Old  South.  273 

One  clear  June  day,  three  months  after  rain 
had  spluttered  on,  and  sunshine  faded,  the  letter 
ing  of  this — to  us — cruel  order,  three  horsemen  ar 
rived,  and  stuck  upon  the  well-pole  a  bright  red 
flag. 

The  Confederate  and  the  Yankee  flag  the  negroes 
were  familiar  with,  but  this  blood-red  rag — "  What 
is  it?  "  said  they — "  de  devil's  henkerchief  ?  " 

Marlborough  was  there,  holding  in  his  arms  his 
granddaughter,  Lyddy,  who  brought  to  his  sad 
face  the  light  of  a  new  love. 

One  of  the  officers  borrowed  a  wooden  bench, 
mounted  it,  and  cried  aloud,  as  if  to  a  crowd  of 
eager  purchasers,  "  Fifty  acres  of  land  is  for  sale  ! 
Who  bids?" 

Not  a  sound,  save  a  cough  or  a  sigh.  Marl- 
borough  stood,  hat  in  hand,  in  courtesy  to  what 
was  happening  on  his  master's  old  plantation. 

"  Does  no  one  bid  for  this  valuable  land,"  con 
tinued  the  auctioneer  ?  You  black  men,  make  me 
an  offer  ;  if  it  is  only  a  fat  pig.  I  must  have  a 
start." 

Frank,  accustomed  to  lead,  stepped  forward  : 
"  Boss," — and  helifted  hishat, — "  I  hopes  you'll  ex 
cuse  me,  but  has  you  forgot  dis  place  was  bought 
from  ole  man  Hamm  by  we  massa  ?  It's  de  finest 
estate  in  Siberty  County,  an'  it  hurts  we  niggers' 

feelin's  fer  you  ter  ask  us  fer  a  fat  pig  when  de 
18 


274  Lyddy:  A  Tale  of 

goodest  man  dat  eber  lived  paid  down  a  pile  of 
gol'  dollars  fer  it." 

"  You  old  fool,  if  you've  no  money,  keep  your 
confounded  talk  to  yourself.  We  are  here  to  do 
our  duty.  Money  is  what  we've  come  for,  and 
we  intend  to  get  it.  Does  no  one  bid  ?  " — noticing 
that  Marlborough  and  Tim  Cay  whispered  to 
gether — "  You  men  over  there,  give  me  a  bid  !  " 

Marlborough  put  his  little  girl  down  before  ad 
dressing  a  white  man,  and  timidly  replied,  "  Boss, 
Tim  Cay  an'  me'll  gib  all  we  has,  if  you'll  wait 
on  us  fer  de  balance." 

"How  much  have  you?  Don't  be  afraid  to 
speak !  We  are  here  to  help  you,  not  harm 
you.  You  look  to  be  a  sensible  man ;  bid  for 
this  valuable  land.  Who  bids?" 

Tim  Cay  looked  at  his  brother-in-law,  scratched 
his  head,  and  shot  a  squirt  of  tobacco  juice  to  one 
side.  "  I  reckon  it  will  count  nigh  on  ter  twenty- 
five  dollars,  when  I  sells  my  pig  an'  Molbro  his 
pony,"  said  he. 

"  Twenty-five  dollars  is  bid  for  fifty  acres  of 
Green  Forest  land  !  Does  no  one  bid  higher  ? 
Going,  going,  gone, — fifty  acres  is  knocked  down 
to — what's  your  name,  sir  ?  " 

"  Molbro." 

"  Mr.  Molbro !  Is  that  who  I  must  make  the 
deeds  for  ?  " 


The  Old  South.  275 

"  I's  plain  Molbro  Janes,  I  neber  had  a  mister 
ter  my  name  all  dese  years.  I  don't  want  one 
now." 

"Slade,  draw  up  the  deed  for  Molbro  Janes, 
coloured.  I  thought  he  was  a  sensible  fellow. 
I  find  he's  as  big  a  fool  as  the  biggest." 

Scuse  me,  boss,  will  you  bleege  me  by  stakin' 
my  part  over  yonder,  where  does  cedar  trees  is ; 
de  balance,  wid  one  cabin,  you  kin  stick  Tim 
Cay's  title  on." 

"The  deuce  !  What  do  you  want  with  that 
enclosure  ?  It  looks  confoundedly  like  a  grave 
yard  !  The  ground  is  rich  with  dead  bones ;  do 
you  hope  to  grow  corn  ten  feet  high,  with  four 
ears  to  each  stalk  !  Is  that  your  idea?" 

"I  has  no  'tention  of  growing*  corn,  boss. 
I  did  plant  a  sweet-orange  seed  there,  an'  de 
bush  is  yaller  wid  fruit;  but  dey  is  bitter  an' 
sour." 

"  Slade,  you  and  White  go  and  stake  off  fifty 
acres,  including  those  cedar  trees.  Molbro  Janes 
sells  his  pig  to  buy  the  grave  of  one  of  his  master's 
children,  with  an  orange-tree  growing  at  the  head. 
I  took  him  to  be  a  sensible  man,  but  he's  a  dam 
fool :  like  all  Jackanapes  of  southern  negroes  he'll 
never  learn  sense.  By  Jove,  some  day  when  he's 
starving  he  will  find  that  not  one  of  his  master's 
children  would  give  him  a  morsel  of  food,  now 


276  Lyddy:  A  Tale  of 

that  they  can't  thrash  and  beat  him."  The  three 
white  men  then  roared  with  laughter. 

In  voice  full  of  dignity,  Marlborough  replied, 
"Boss,  I  has  been  taught  not  ter  counterdict  w'ite 
folks,  but  de  word  you  is  jes  spoke  ain't  true.  You 
Yankee  people  may  be  dat  kind,  but  our  w'ite 
folks  ain't.  Massa's  chilluns  would  share  de  las' 
crum'  o'  bread  wid  us,  but  we  don't  look  ter  dem 
fer  food.  Mars  Abe  Linkun  is  brought  dem  ter 
want ;  dey  is  neber  used  ter  hard  work,  dey  had  all 
dey  needed  till  Blue-coats  come  south.  If  you'll 
allow  me,  boss,  I'll  say  one  more  word.  De  bes' 
victuals  I  eber  eat  an'  de  happiest  days  I  eber 
lived  was  when  I  was  coachman  ter  massa." — He 
bent  his  head  respectfully  in  the  direction  of  tall 
chimneys  unsupported  by  walls  or  rafters. — "In 
does  days  we  nuss  an'  me  used  ter  sit  under  we 
own  vine  an'  fig  tree.  Now  she's  sleepin' 
in  dat  cedar  hedge,  an'  I  hopes  ter  jine  her 
soon." 

"  Hah !  hah !  old  man,  is  that  what  you're 
buying?"  A  dead  wife's  grave!  And  the  two  in 
truders  roared  with  merriment.  "  You  ain't  lost 
all  sentiment  if  you  are  a  free  nigger,  and  getting 
old  in  the  bargain." 

"Boss,  I  ain't  edicated  :  I  don't  know  what  you 
calls  sentiment.  But  if  it's  love  you's  talkin* 
'bout,  I  kin  love  as  true  as  any  w'ite  man,  if  my 


The  Old  South.  277 

face  is  black  an'  my  hair  streaked  wid  grey. 
Massa  told  us  "  God  is  love,"  an'  he  taught  us  ter 
respect  we  selves,  an'  I  hopes  ter  keep  in  mind 
his  teachin'  till  I  dies." 


278  JLyddy :  A  Tale  of 


XXIII. 
News  of  Juno. 

"To  reign  is  worth  ambition,  though  in  hell; 
Better  to  reign  in  hell  than  serve  in  heaven. n 

MILTON. 

MIDWAY  church  was  closed  after  the  war. 
But  a  coloured  Baptist  preacher  gained 
permission  to  preach  in  its  classic-carved 
oaken  pulpit,  on  condition  that  the  cemetery  be 
kept  in  order.  Accordingly,  at  the  end  of  his 
first  service,  he  proceeded  to  appoint  a  com 
mittee  to  attend  to  this  matter. 

A  woman  arose  in  the  congregation  and  spoke. 
It  was  Nannie.  "  Brothers  an'  sisterens,"  said 
she,  "  wid  your  consent  I'll  promise  ter  care  fer 
we  enclosure  where  massa  an'  missus  lies.  Bro' 
Molbro  an'  Amos  put  we  captain  dere  too." 

"Amen,  amen,  sister!  God  bless  you!"  re 
sponded  more  than  one  voice.  At  recollections  of 
the  past,  many  shed  tears. 

Nannie's  care  for  two  decades  was  unremitting. 
She  kept  the  sweeping  grey  moss  festooned  to  the 


The  Old  South.  279 

limbs  above,  as  if  the  spot  were  too  sacred  for 
touch.  Feebleness  and  age  has  now  interrupted 
her  attentions. 

The  devotion  of  slaves  from  Green  Forest  is 
not  exceptional.  Many  other  authentic  instances 
could  be  given  to  prove  my  words. 

I  cite  but  one.  Not  long  ago,  in  a  hotel  in 
Massachusetts,  I  often  met  in  the  hall  a  coloured 
maid  who  reminded  me  of  our  Lydia.  I  greeted 
her  with  a  Good-morning  one  day.  She  stopped. 
"  Missy,"  she  asked,  "  ain't  you  from  the  south? 
Do  you  know  my  Miss  Annie  and  Miss  Sallie?" 
She  had  been  educated  in  a  negro  university. 

"  Where  do  they  live?  "  I  asked. 

"  In  Virginia,  ma'am.  I  hear  Miss  Annie  is  get 
ting  feeble.  Sometimes  I  think  it's  my  duty  to 
go  and  live  with  them.  We  wouldn't  have  any 
thing  to  live  on,  because  they  are  poor  and 
weren't  brought  up  to  work.  I  always  share  my 
wages  with  them." 

"  How  comes  it  you  are  so  fond  of  these  ladies, 
you  must  have  been  born  after  freedom." 

"Yes,  ma'am.  It  was  when  Mars  Stonewall 
Jackson  was  tenting  near  our  plantation.  There 
was  a  big  fight.  Blue-coats  were  killing  every 
thing  on  the  place.  Missus  got  in  a  carriage  to 
go  to  Miss  Randolph's,  across  the  river,  when  my 
pa  came  wringing  his  hands.  Missus  jumped  out 


280  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

and  said,  '  Ben,  drive  the  children  to  Miss  Ran 
dolph's  ;  tell  her  I  will  come  in  the  morning  if 
Ginnie  is  better.'  Our  white  house  was  full  of 
soldiers  cutting  up  jack,  and  my  mother  has  told 
me  how  old  missus  put  on  me  the  first  clothes  I 
ever  wore.  She  named  me  Patience.  Massawas 
brought  from  Gettysburg  and  missus  planted 
snow-drops  on  his  grave ;  but  before  they  was 
blooming  she  was  layin  alongside.  When  my 
mother  took  her  last  sickness  she  called  me  one 
night.  '  Patience,'  says  she,  '  my  appointed  time 
is  come.  There  is  a  rumbling  of  chariot  wheels, 
the  archangel  is  singing ;  heaven  bells  are  a-ring- 
ing  my  soul  engage.  Promise  me,  Patience, 
when  I'm  gone  you  will  always  share  your  wages 
with  Miss  Annie  and  Miss  Sallie.  If  it  hadn't 
been  for  their  mother  you  nor  me  would  be  here 
to-day.'  Lady,  do  you  think  I  could  ever  forget 
my  duty  to  Miss  Annie  and  Miss  Sallie  ?  " 

The  pathos  in  her  voice  was  of  itself  convincing. 

I  give  now  a  letter  from  Juno,  received  during 
my  residence  abroad : 

Siberty  Co.,  Ga.,Aug.,  '94.. 
My  Dear  Missy : — 

I  cannot  begin  to  tell  you  how  glad  I  am  to  hear 
of  you  once  more.  Your  letter  reached  me  from 
Switzerland.  I  don't  know  which  was  greater, 


The  Old  South.  281 

my  surprise  or  joy.  I  am  so  glad  to  hear  you  are 
restored  to  health :  we  never  thought  you  would  be 
well ;  Miss  Let  ha  has  told  us  of  all  your  sorrow. 

You  want  to  know  about  your  people.  I  have  had 
ten  children,  seven  living.  Boy  (Joe]  is  a  big  man 
and  has  three  children  and  a  good  wife,  Sissy. 
Matilda  is  also  married.  She  is  the  little  one,  you 
remember,  zv/io  used  to  beg  for  your  balmoral,  and 
you  said  "All  right,  I'll  give  it  to  you  when  it's 
old"  I  often  tell  the  children  about  you.  They 
love  to  hear  me  talk  of  old  times.  My  sister  Geor 
gia  died  five  years  ago,  leaving  four  sons  and  one 
daughter.  Lawrence  and  Edward  are  still  living. 
Mother  s  husband,  Robin,  has  been  married  twice 
since  mother  s  death.  Molbro  has  been  dead  for 
many  years.  Uncle  Belfast  and  his  wife  are  both 
dead.  Daniel  and  Phoebe  are  living.  Many  of  the 
others  have  moved  away  or  I  have  lost  sight  of 
them. 

I  have  no  photo  of  mother.  But  I  have  one  of 
my  sister,  who  resembles  her.  I  will  send  it  to 
you.  I  am  glad  you  are  writing  about  mother. 
When  it  is  in  print  send  me  a  copy,  and  the  kind 
white  friend  who  is  writing  this  letter  will  read  it 
aloud  for  vie. 

Every  day  I  kiss  your  photograph  you  sent  me ; 
it  is  so  precious  to  me!  You  ask  if  you  were 
ever  unkind  to  me  ?  No,  my  dear  missy  ;  but  you 


282  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

taught  me  many  useful  lessons  Pm  trying  to  teach 
my  children.     I  would  love  to  see  you  once  more. 

We  are  getting  on   tolerably  well.      Times  are 
dreadfully  hard  some  years.     Do  write  me  again. 

Your  loving  servant, 

Juno. 


The  Old  South.  283 


XXIV. 
Mixed  Schools,  Mixed  Marriages. 

IN  Siberty  County,  broad  areas,  once  teeming 
with   cotton,    corn,    or    rice,    are   now   sub 
divided  into  small  farms  owned  by  negroes 
and  northern  men,  who  bought  the  land  at  tax- 
collectors'  sales. 

The  court-house  in  Ashby  County,  where 
Greenville  was  situated,  was  destroyed,  with  its 
deeds  and  records.  Seven  hundred  acres  of  pine 
land  running  back  of  our  summer-house — also 
burned — were  almost  forgotten — the  heirs  were 
engrossed  in  gaining  daily  bread. 

The  judge  of  Ashby  County  convened  court 
in  temporary  quarters.  After  calling  to  order,  he 
asked,  "  Is  there  any  cause  why  the  petitioner, 
Samuel  Thorne,  junior,  shall  not  be  granted  a 
squatter's  deed  to  five  hundred  acres  of  pine  land, 
on  which  he  has  lived  unmolested  seven  years  ?  I 
He  is  an  efficient  officer,  and  has  kissed  the  Bible 
over  our  Ironclad  Oath." 

A  stranger  arose  from  a  rear  seat,  and,  to  the 


284  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

dismay  of  the  petitioner,  replied,  "  May  it  please 
your  honour,  I  protest.  The  said  land  belongs 
to  relatives,  who  are  not  aware  of  Sam  Thome's 
kindness  in  squatting  on  their  property." 

Sam,  Feede's  alleged  big  black  bear,  years  be 
fore,  in  a  similar  manner,  had  obtained  possession 
of  two  hundred  acres,  where  his  wife  Becky  now 
lived,  beating  her  tow-headed  children  as  if  they 
were  made  of  stone. 

Notwithstanding  the  tremendous  monetary 
loss  to  us,  the  release  from  the  trials  connected 
with  the  care  and  guidance  of  slaves  is  a  happy 
one.  Our  fair  southland  has  greatly  advanced 
with  wider  views  of  life  ;  the  poison  of  internal 
strife  is  now  a  thing  of  the  past.  This  new  dawn 
of  brotherly  love  reveals  the  silver-lining  so  long 
obscured.  Phcenix-like,  towns  and  village  have 
risen  from  their  ashes  into  cities  of  magni 
tude.  Men  and  women  walk  to  church,  remem 
bering  their  fine  equipages  as  things  of  the  past. 
Hardly  a  score  of  sensible  citizens  would,  I  be 
lieve,  resume  their  former  positions  as  slave 
owners. 

Southern  women  have  proved  their  ability  to 
prepare  a  dinner  fit  for  a  king.  In  the  midst  of 
these  homely  duties,  year  by  year  they  spread 
garlands  of  flowers  over  the  graves  of  those  that 
—like  Lee — faced  the  foe. 


The  Old  South.  285 

When  the  promise  of  forty  acres  of  land  and  a 
mule  failed  to  materialise,  the  men  made  free  were 
disappointed. 

Freedom  to  the  young  was  a  great  boon  ;  but 
to  the  aged  and  sick  it  meant  much  suffering. 

At  a  railway  station  in  Virginia  an  old  negro 
man  accosted  me  not  long  ago  :  "  Missy,  do  buy 
my  fried  chicken  ;  it's  bery  tasty." 

"  Tell  me,  uncle,"  I  said,  "  how  do  you  enjoy 
freedom  ?  " 

He  looked  me  over  to  be  sure  I  was  northern 
born,  not  a  southerner,  then  said :  "  It's  bery  good, 
ma'am,  to  know  I  is  free.  'Fore  de  war  I  work 
a  leedle,  eat  a  pow'ful  lot,  dance  half  de  night, 
sleep  when  de  boss  wasn't  'round.  Now,  I  works 
all  day  in  de  truck-patch.  Comes  eb'ry  train  till 
midnight  fer'  sell  dese  fry.  Ole  Sue  is  sick  de 
bes'  of  de  time.  It  takes  all  I  makes  fer  pay  de 
doctor.  De  inteyor  harness,  what  keep  soul  an' 
body  togedder,  is  pow'ful  easy  ter  git  upside 
down.  Chicken-meat  what  gits  stale,  an'  bread 
hard  as  a  brickbat,  don't  'gree  wid  we  like  de 
sweet  hog  an'  hominy,  wid  hoecake.  Wen  I 
t'inks  of  ole  massa's  smokehouse  my  eyes  an' 
mouth  runs  water.  Ole  Sue,  wid  her  confedera 
tion  wrong,  groans  fer  de  household  kitchen,  or 
de  cabin  close  by." 

The  admixture  of  colour  was  a  dreadful  curse 


286  Lyddy  :  A  Tale  of 

on  southern  estates.  Now,  one  has  but  to  note 
the  coppery-tinged  children  in  large  northern 
cities,  to  realise  that  this  evil  has  not  abated. 

The  curse  of  this  social  phenomena  I  leave 
to  be  overthrown  by  others ;  merely  adding, 
that  the  Jew  refuses  to  amalgamate  with  the 
Gentile.  He  keeps  an  iron  band  about  his  circle  ; 
who  breaks  it,  incurs  disinheritance.  Rarely  do 
artists  put  two  decided  colours  side  by  side,  or 
clever  gardeners  Jacqueminots  with  lilies  of  the 
valley,  They  grow  in  the  same  garden,  equally 
prized  ;  but  one  flourishes  in  sunshine,  the  other  in 
a  northern  exposure.  The  raven  and  dove,  too, 
feed  in  the  same  meadow:  they  never  sit  on  the 
same  nest. 

Then  why  should  Julia  Smith,  with  her  flaxen 
curls,  occupy  a  school-desk  with  Clarence  Baxter, 
coloured,  unless  they  may  be  free  to  marry ;  for 
intimacy  often  ripens  into  love  ?  Have  not 
statistics  shown  that  they  do  stand  under  the 
same  marriage-bell  ?  God  has  made  a  strong 
divisional  line  ;  therefore  we  of  the  south  do  not 
approve  of  mixed  schools. 

Why  should  not  the  negro  race  have  every 
advantage,  and  so  make  for  itself  a  history  ?  They 
have  logical  and  intellectual  powers,  combined 
with  much  that  is  good  and  true.  They  are  very 
sociable,  never  hesitating  to  accost  a  stranger : 


The  Old  South.  287 

"  Morning!  is  you  jes  from  Charleston  ?  "  "  Not 
jes  at  dis  present  minute  ;  shortly,  previous  to 
de  war  I  was  dere,  and  shortly  previous  after  de 
war  I  was  dere  ag'in — to-day  I  is  journeyin' 
backward  toward  Atlanta." 


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